BENNIE 
THE PYTH lAn 



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OF 



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LEWIS BARHETTFRETZ 




Class __tiSj_S 



Book I^ C^rSd- 
Copght)^" >^0\ 



COPyRIGHT DEPOSrr. 




LOUIS BARNETT FRETZ 



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Bennte, tfte PptWan of 
..Spracuse^ 

AND OTHER TITLES 



By 
LEWIS BARNETT FRETZ 



We may write our thoughts in books, 
We may trace them in the ground, 
We may hang them up on hooks. 
We may box them up as sound. 
But each book away will fade, 
Each trac'd line will show decay 
Each hook 'come a pointed blade. 
And each box a castaway. 



CHICAGO, 

SCROLL PUBLISHING COMPANTt, 

I90I. 



THF I I8RAI»Y OF 
G<,NGREr.S, 

Two COP4E8 Receive* 

APR. 14 1902 

Oq?Y8I««T cntrv 

/ ^ -7 ^ xT 

COPY B. 



T632-U 



Copyrighted, 1901, 
by the Author. 



CONTENTS 

Bennie, the Pythian of Syracuse, - " '9 

In Memoriuni, - " ' , ' „ • ^ ,t 

The Modern Duality, or a Man of the Period, 31 

_ _ - 94 
Friendship, - • " " 

Dionysius, the Tyrant of Syracuse - " ^^4 

Rathbone Temple, 'j-^ .- \- - " ^^^ 

The Bachelor Gii-r^i Rtisolve, - - " ^ 

Ma's Dirty, Lazy Boy, Jim, - - " ^5 

Waterloo's Smiling Twenty, " " ' ^2 

What the Human Heart May Endure, 

The Boilermakers' Dance, - - " " ^^^ 
Fixing the Fault, - - " ' " ^^^ 

Break the Alabaster Now, - - " ^ " ^ 

Aged Now, - - " ' ' 

House Decoration a Fine Art, ' ' A. 

Real Beauty vs. Pretty, - " " " ^4 

Is Kissing Wrong? " ' ' " ' 130 

Christian Endeavor, - " " " 

America's Silent Army, " " " " ,7^ 

Bugs, - - _ - 146 

Somebody's Mother, - - " 

When the Pretty Lilacs Bloom, - " ^^ 

Things Heard About Town, ' " " 16c 

•♦The Man With the Hoe," " " ' . 166 

Civilized Barbarism, - - " ' ^ " ^^^ 

Newspaper Reporting, - - " ' ^ 

Reflections, - " " ' " 



LEWIS BARNETT FRETZ 

AUTHOR AND JOURNALIST. 

Is a native of Indiana, born near Newberry, March 
4. 1868. His early years were spent on the farm after 
the fashion of the ordinary country boy. Coming from 
an ancestry whose history was made in the Grand 
Duchy of Baden, Alsatia and Lower Switzerland, he 
inherited a strength of constitution able to bear the 
requirements of great energy. Full of life and activity, 
not unmixed with ambition, he began early to do things. 
Possessing good intelligence, intellectual life became 
most natural, and at the age of twelve he was known 
as a full-fledged book agent. A close student of human 
nature, this experience made him keenly observant of 
men and events. 

His school days ended at the age of sixteen, when 
he began the practical operations of life. 

After serving a three years' apprenticeship at the 
painter's trade, he found the use of pigments and oil 
detrimental to health, and abandoning that profession 
took up an apprenticeship in the printing business, be- 
ginning November 19, 1888, in the office of the Auburn 
Courier, which position opened the way to higher intel- 
lectual attainment; though not without privation and 
many a hard struggle. 

Possessed of unusual oratorical talents, Mr. Fretz 
lost no opportunity for their cultivation, and at the age 
of nineteen stood without a peer in DeKalb county as 
a debater. Following his conversion, in 1890, this reputa- 
tion was instrumental in his admission to the Council 
of Teachers in the Indiana Eldership of the Church of 
God, from which body he was granted a life certificate 
at its annual session held at Helmer in September of 



lo LEWIS BARNETT FRETZ. 

1899. Thus as a tradesman, painter, printer, lecturer, 
poet and journalist, he has had the advantage of no 
circumstances save those which he ambitiously created 
for himself. 

His first literary success, The Modern Duality, or a 
Man of the Period, was granted an open reception by 
scholar and student alike in Chicago and other of the 
larger cities, as well as in town, village and hamlet. 
His latest, Bennie, the Pythian of Syracuse and Other 
Titles, is ample proof of what an American boy can do 
if he will. 

Mr. Fretz is a member of Mentor Lodge No. 591, L 
O. O. F., Auburn; Kosciusko Lodge No. 230, Knights 
of Pythias, Syracuse; Sobriety Lodge No. 347, Daugh- 
ters of Rebekah, Edon, Ohio; Edon Y. P. S. C. E. ; 
Church of God, Auburn, and Garrett Congress No. 31, 
Modern Samaritans of the World. 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

It has been said that "in the making of books there 
is no end." That is probably true, especially with 
reference to good books. To use a metaphor, the 
world is burdened with libraries of books; these books 
may be good, bad, or indiflferent, in proportion as the 
thought contained within them is good, bad, or in- 
different. Some books are better than others. The 
standard of measurement in a book is usually the cri- 
terion by which the character of the author writing 
it is to be measured. Some authors write books for 
fun, others for gain; still others for the good it may 
do those who read. 

The object of the present work has been in most 
part to teach. The author, in the preparation of the 
manuscript, had at least two objects in view: The 
first, to set down in clear characters the things he 
felt ought to be known, regarding his fellow men, as 
their conduct and customs were observed in practical 
life. The other was to make a plain record of his 
thought as it appeared in his associations with men 
and his observations in society. As to the clearness 
and accuracy with v^hich these incidents and conclu- 
sions have been set down by a conscientious writer 
can only be known and appreciated by a careful per- 
usal of the book. 

Bennie, The Pythian of Syracuse, and Other Titles, 
and especially Bennie, are the practical result of prac- 
tical experience. Whatever virtue there may be in 
the thought and philosophy of this work will be 
clearly shown by a careful perusal. That is all the 
author asks. Let each person read with an eye to 
discovering virtue, purity, and excellence, rather than 



12 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

for the disclosure of fault. No guaranty is sent out 
that the work is faultless. No doubt it is full of 
fault; at least the author is so. 

It is equally true that there may be more of virtue 
than of fault, and if so, the reader owes it to himself 
to find it. 

All permanent thought is the result of inspiration. 
Philosophy itself cannot be ground from the cold facts 
of law. That gentle, inspiring, invisible must temper 
and tone to the point where freedom abounds. The 
author does not presume to compete with Demos- 
thenes, Cicero, Aristotle, Epictetus, Antoninis, Carlyle, 
Keats, Holmes, Emerson, Longfellow, Browning, 
Tennyson, and others, but he does pretend to set 
down his own particular thought in his own par- 
ticular way. No mystery, no dark and hidden syllo- 
gism, no attempt at buffoonery. Facts as far as pos- 
sible; pictures where most convenient. 

No claims are made above the ordinary as to 
poetic diction. A regular meter has been adopted, 
and the thought, rather than the rhyme, has predom- 
inated. To those "who have been initiated, this little 
volume is intended to tell everything; to those who 
have not been initiated, it tells nothing. There are 
five hundred thousand Knights of Pythias, nine 
hundred thousand Odd Fellows, and nearly nine 
hundred thousand Masons in the United States. Out 
of this aggregation there should come a per cent, of 
the appreciative sufficient to justify a work of this 
kind. 

1901. 



INTRODUCTION. 

It is with no small degree of hesitancy, yet with an 
indescribable feeling: of pleasure and satisfaction that 
I approach the reading world, and particularly that 
part of it known as fraternal, with a creation decidedly 
new on the line of secret society literature. 

At the close of a pleasant summer day I sat by 
my window, looking out from beneath the spreading 
brandies of a friendly maple and viewed the grandeur 
of the sun as he hastened toward the Occident. 

From far in the North to far in the South, sullen 
sheets of blackened vapor hung like a leaden sea 
against the horizon, and spread a shadowy pall over 
the landscane beneath. As the K'ng of Day ap- 
proached this storm-burdened curtain of Nie^ht, its 
refractory r?ys se-med to press a challenge for su- 
premcicy. which, like a m"ghty stroke of Thor. burst 
the bnnds o^ murk and liberated myriads of entities, 
pmbln zoned with all the prismatic colors of the rain- 
bow. 

Nearer the background of this electrified picture. 
a waving mass of translucent purple widened gradu- 
ally like riDples on the bosom of some placid lake 
until it reached the azure dome above. Here and there, 
delicate tints of pink and amber evolved like polished 
garnitures, pinning back in graceful folds, as it were, 
the shifting portierres of Heaven, in such a way that 
mortality might catch at least a glimpse of the un- 
speakable glories beyond ere nocturnal shades h d 
them away in obscurity. From the center and bottom 
of this thrilling panorama a mirage shaft of molten 
gold was cast up which, in turn, spread over the firma- 



14 INTRODUCTION. 

ment, already garbed in transparent prettiness, like a 
halo of the ethereal. 

Magic splendor glowed in spotless sheen on hill and 
dale, until lost amid the hazy breadths of listless 
skies, darkening shadows crept like a misty veil 
abroad. Loiteringly and slow these soothing chariots 
of the night seemed to rise higher and higher, like 
fairy spectres in a land of promise and of plenty. 

The last gleam of sunlight fell like a heavenly bene- 
diction on the heaving bosom of Earth, all beauteous 
in her wrappings of emerald and blooming flowers. 
Coy, like some half-grown schoolgirl waiting in arbor 
for a sweetheart and, with round cheeks flushed by 
the finer tints of twilight. Dame Nature appeared on 
the scene, robed in nice fitting sheets of flakey clouds 
tipped in gold. These seemed fastened at the belt 
line with a corsage of silver, while the skirt showed 
evanescing ruffllings, variegated and rubescent. Bear- 
ing gracefully and proudly a tiara of stars, she smiled 
demurely and passed to her apartments, curtained just 
them with majestic efifulgence. 

Striking a "fetching" attitude, she seemed to ex- 
pectantly bide the caresses of Aurora's dawn and the 
kissings, nectar-steeped, of Heaven's beneficent dews. 
Magnificent in appointment and attired in regal robes 
of richest texture, she witched the wooings of even- 
tide as serenely as a happy bride captures her ador- 
ing groom at the nuptial altar. From some hidden 
recess in her matchless costume, fragrance, deep- 
scented and pleasing, floated in air like some medici- 
nal balm of the Orient, carrying in the depths of 
its omniscient perfume the power to comfort and to 
heal. 

Each tiny flower and blade of grass, each small 
bush and shrub, and trees, which unto greater pro- 
portion and strength had grown — each, all, seemed 
to join in one mighty chorus of praise and thanks- 
giving. 

It was while resting within and absorbing the be- 
nign influence of this peculiarly entrancing atmos- 



INTRODUCTION. 



15 



phere, that I recalled a fitting sentiment of Owen 
Meredith in Lucile: "The thought that thrills our ex- 
istence most, is one, which, ere we can frame it in 
language is gone." During a brief season of crystal- 
lized ecstacy, the rejoicings of my own wondering 
soul found expression in something like the following 
soliloquization: 

Great, "wide, beautiful, wonderful world. Matchless 
art thou, and incomprehensible! Where is thy begin- 
ning; where thy ending? 

Oh, language of Nature, ever peaceful and instruc- 
tive, thou dost teach us to know how sweet it is to 
live, how grand to die, with a full knowledge of our 
power to. enjoy the immutableness about us! The 
world, God's treasure-house for the sublime and in- 
finite, how incomparable its illimitableness; how be- 
wildering its beauty and loveableness ; how spiritual- 
izing and inspiring its harmony ! Most truly it is a 
grand galaxy of imperturbable effusiveness and spon- 
taneous coalescence! The mind of mortal man cannot 
fathom the mysteries of creation. Should there be 
any one thing above all the rest which, from the 
very nature of itself is calculated to inspire composi- 
tion, eloquent, poetic; paintii^^, rich, exceptional; 
sculpture, exquisite, rare; son^?, melodious, heavenly; 
music, thrilling, divine, that tiling is a view of some 
of the master wonders in Navuicr 

Such were the impressions (»* '^^*' "'^^yl during that 
short hour by the study window, that the iiicidentr of 
my life came before me like an exciting panorama, 
and mentally the thought presented itself: Truly 1 
have basked in the sunushine of prosperity at the 
floodtide of noonday; I have awakened at the darkest 
hour in adversity's midnight; I have enjoyed for a 
season the comforts and advantages of worldly honor 
and a happy home; I have felt the breath of calumny 
burn my cheeks with withering heat; I have fully 
known the joys of domestic life; I have seen the 
shadows of Death as he crossed the threshold of my 
hearthstone to blight the fairest flower in my heart's 



i6 INTRODUCTION. 

affections with his icy touch; I have reclined on the 
lap of luxury and felt content; in a moment of dire 
calamity, I have seen all swept away, as if by a cyclone 
or an avalanche, and myself left — almost friendless, 
penniless, and alone. 

Pausing in these reflections, I crossed the room and, 
sitting down to my desk, took up my pen and began 
to write in verse as by the uncontrollable impulse of 
inspiration — Bennie, The Pythian of Syracuse, wa.'^ 
the surprising and happy result. 

In the construction of Bennie, The Pythian of Syra- 
cuse, my purpose has not been so much to excel the 
average in literary style and poetic diction, as to tell 
a simple story in my own 4)articular way. How well 
■ I have succeeded in carrying out that purpose you. 
kind reader, will doubtless be in position to judge by 
the time this little volume has been carefully perused. 
Thus I consign it to your keeping, with the hope that 
your just criticism, after having carefully read, may 
be kind, even though of necessity it becomes severe 
as touching technicalities. 

Prior to June ist, 1899, P. P. XXXVI, Bennie, The 
Pythian of Syracuse, was not even a thought in the 
m.ind of the author, and had the circumstances under 
which the major portion of these verses was brought 
out been less propitious, the story of Bennie Hodge's 
initiation, experiences, teachings, illness and trium- 
phant death as a Knight of Pythias, as told in this 
volume, would doubtless have remained unwritten un- 
til now. 

The real opportunity for telling the story came 
about after something like this fashion : The members 
of Leonidas Lodge, No. 205, Waterloo, Ind., decided 
to observe the regular authorized K. of P. Memorial 
Day, on Sunday afternoon. June 11, 1899. It was their 
first effort along that line, and they naturally had a 
desire that the program on that occasion should go 
to record as a memorable event. And quite accurate- 
ly did the brotherhood reckon about the matter. 

The committee on arrangements tendered your hum- 



INTRODUCTION. 17 

ble servant the honor of delivering the principal ad- 
dress, which was finally accepted, but with trepida- 
tion. The one most imoortant query presenting itself 
to me was, "what shall be said to the people?" And I 
must confess that the question was one of consider- 
able gravity. But the gods help those who try to help 
themselves. I was granted an audience with the 
Muses! 

On the day appointed the people assembled from 
miles around to witness the exercises. The street pa- 
rade was magnificent and those taking part enthusias- 
tic — not boisterous, as is sometimes characteristic of 
public gatherings — but solemnly energetic, with a 
modesty both graceful and sublime. The Opera House 
was taxed to its utmost capacity and, if my testimony 
can be taken here, I never had the pleasure of ap- 
pearing before a more inspiring and appreciative au- 
dience, or one which seemed to enjoy so much of de- 
light in conveying to my ears the highest opinions for 
an individual effort. Thus under these auspices, smil- 
ing faces, bright uniforms, beautiful flowers, thrilling 
music, and an afternoon filled with sunshine, Bennie, 
The Pythian of Syracuse, found echo in the hearts of 
men and women with a tenderness of sentiment and 
sympathy of eloquence that was strange and new — 
even to me; and, I was glad for the beauty of poesy 
to reach the innermost of humanity, where by a sin- 
gle touch of the magic wand of Love, prejudice van- 
ished like the mists before summer sun and Pythian- 
ism gained a stronger hold in a community hitherto 
fruitful of well-meant, but ignorant opposition. 

Now, that the Muses and the people have sanc- 
tioned the result of earnest endeavor by setting the 
seal of success upon it, may not the record be set 
forth, that, of the .=i00,ooo Knights of Pythias in the 
United States and Canada, not one has failed to read, 
honestly, Bennie, The Pythian of Syracuse? With the 
hope that you, respected reader, may have profit in 
the perusal of this little volume as I have had pleasure 
in its construction, I will leave the subject to your 
unction. 



BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF 
SYRACUSE. 

Long years agone. the Knights of Syracuse, 

Initiated Bennie Hodge 

In all the ranks — Orient, Mystic, Muse — 

Made of him, one in their Lodge. 

Oft when we go to the Castle at night. 

Our thoughts steal to that fateful time, 

When, with helmet and shield and armor bright, 

He sought the Knighthood rank to climb. 

Friendship's lessons he had been fully taught. 

In the capacity of Page — 

That Life with great uncertainty is fraught 

Alike to Neophyte or Sage. 

Charity oped to him a pleasant dream; 

Changeful, as on he strove apace. 

And found things are not always what they seem, 

While running this uneven race. 

The Brotherhood admired him as a Knight, 

For the rare manhood he displayed 

In passing "through," without tremor and fright. 

Or becoming anywise dismayed. 

Firmly standing by all duty and trust, 

He lived the Truth, as truth he saw. 

In hope that when he went, as go he must, 

His Crown the King would not withdraw. 

Alas, for Bennie! In a fitful hour, 
He passed on to that mystic bourne — 
Illness held him fast within its power, 



20 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

And from the Castle he was torn. 

Long weeks he laid in pain, the direst kind, 

His frail body with fever burning. 

As tho' there was no ease which he could find, 

In any direction turning. 

The physician with scientific mien — 

Dosing out powders and potions — 

Gave all kinds of tonic he'd ever seen, 

Down to — "professional notions." 

But Science or Medicine could not give 

Vitality to flieeting life, 

Nor make our dying brother longer live 

To struggle on in miortal strife. 

Faithfully did we watch beside that bed, 

Trying hard to keep him quiet ; 

But the wild delirium filled his head, 

In spite of all — care and diet. 

Finally the last came so swift and nigh. 

His going we could not contend; 

And, Bennie, seemed to know he had to die — 

Was gladly awaiting the end. 

He prest Chajilr-i''- '/eek to his chilling brow, 

A--* -^-^^c g^fndy into his ears: 

"The Master calls me — I go to him now ; 

"All's well with Soul, so dry your tears. 

"Weep not for me. Dear Prothers, weep no more, 

"I'm going to the Lodge on High, 

"Where Angels get the Password at the door, 

"And hear our voices when we cry 

"Yester eve as I tossed upon this cot, 

"There came to me a vision bright ; 

"Of the Eternal— I'll forget it not. 

"Where Seraphs reign in holy light. 

"And I saw her among them, precious wife. 

"Who sleepest in her narrow bed, 

"Down there, so far away from human life, 

"Within God's City of the Dead. 



BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 21 

"Her smiling face came unto me last night, 

"In Dreamland's happiest vision, 

"With eyes beaming contentment's clearer sight — 

"Joy of that home Elysian. 

"Then, joy of joys, I heard her gentle voice, 

"Speaking in sweetest accents low ; 

"And, it made my own grieving heart rejoice, 

"To hear those tones again, below, 

I prest my lips to her soft, velvet cheek. 

As was my wont in times of yore, 

"My love went out to her — angelic, meek — 

"I wanted her forevermore. 

"These feet seemed to be treading upper air, 

"So thrilled was my very Soul ; 

"And, I forgot she is a spirit there ; 

"In yon realm— the Christian's goal. 

"The monLh of beautious, fragrant flowers, 
"Brought her to me, a blushing bride, 
"Graceful— a rose from Earth's blooming bowers, 
"Yet a woman — my heart's true pride. 
"Mem'ry went back to that eventful June, 
"During my dream's entrancing flight, 
"And recalled the grand wedding afternoon, 
"Which filled our lives full with delight. 

"When she died I didn't know the reason why, 

"She could so calmly go to sleep, 

"And leave me, her husband, alone to sigh, 

"And fret — her endless absence weep — 

"But now it is truly a great relief, 

"To know her Soul's at anchor cast, 

"Within the happy land where Christ is chief — 

"Where we may meet again, at last. 

"Sing, Brothers, the Song of Fraternity, 
"Which woos from Sin; 'Though passion's slave, 
"Let me bear that Ode to Eternity, 
"A symbol of the Love you gave. 



22 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

"Glory to God in the Highest," he said, 
While "God Save the True Knight," we sang; 
Each feeling himself in sight of the dead, 
As solemnly the echoes rang. 

A quorum of Knights stood around his bed, 

Sorry that one of us should go 

To join that vast majority, the dead. 

And leave a vacant Chair below, 

Alas, for Humanity's short'n'd sight, 

That sees not o'er the present hour ! 

His eyes had closed to Earthly day and night. 

Death had gr?>gped him in its power. 

To each Sir Knight he spoke with fitting cheer. 

Telling all how we ought to live : 

"I spent na^' life," he said, "in Godly fear, 

And can face all that Death may give 

Be trut, then, and honest before the World, 

God's blessings by prayer invoke. 

So that, when Death's throngs are around you furled, 

You'll be free from Sin's galling yoke. 

In fancy now. Uniformed Knights I see; 

Marching proudly the Golden streets. 

Displaying the Pythian Angles three. 

Around the Supremest of seats. 

Soon I'll join that Guard of helmet and plume. 

So brilliant and strong and brave, 

Who passed Imperial Rank through the tomb. 

Beyond the silence of the Grave. 

Farewell to all, my Fellow Lodgemen true, 

I take departure from you now. 

To view the scenes of the Supreme Lodge through, 

And carry a Crown on my brow. 

I bid you, my Brethren, a last adieu. 

Before leaving Dear Mother Earth, 

To join that Knightly Host so pure and new, 

In the Land of my Spirit's birth." 



BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 23 

Sometimes, in this World of Care and Sorrow, 
Mortals intuitively see 
Somewhat into the things of tomorrow — 
Find themselves from burden more free. 
Could we but know the how of all our pain. 
While trying to endure so much, 
Ofttimes happiness would return again, 
In Joy's sweet reign our lives to touch. 

Many times we see cheeks swollen and wet, 

With the stream of Grief's moistest rain, 

All because a few small worms will forget. 

From scoffing, mocking, to refrain. 

Oh, how oft do we hear the trembling sighs. 

That come from a breaking heart, 

And see tears drip, scalding, from blood-shot eyes, 

A flood — tlie Soul's tenderest part. 

At such moments as these in the lives of all. 

True Sympathy has a mission. 

To soothe and comfort Men, both great and small. 

And lead them by mild judition 

Into the knowledge of more joyous things. 

Many a heart is hard and cold. 

That never in Love's own sweet music sings 

Affection's pure language, so old — 

Which, if its possessor could only know 
How much of gladness could be brought, 
To those who fret and weep and sorrow so. 
Would be laden with Hope's fine thought. 
But alas! He who grieves, must grieve alone: 
Each bear his load as best he can. 
While no friend is ever near to condone 
The vein of sadness in a man. 

Thus Benn's life closed like a glow in the West, 
'Mid the triumphs of Living Faith; 
Thus his Soul's Temple went down to its rest, 
Garlanded with Virtue and strength. 



24 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Hope's bright morning in his countenance shown; 
As he turned his face to Heaven, 
Each Sir Knight knew his Earthly work was done— 
His failings were forgiven. 

Gently we folded his hands on his breast, 

Tears of sadness our hearts did shed; 

In his own Lodge Robe his body we drest — 

Bore it to God's Plain of the Dead. 

Sadly, indeed, we've missed him since he's gone. 

Whither the Great Chancellor willed, 

But we'll think that only on Earth, alone. 

Is his work of Charity stilled. 

All human words may fall like heartless jeers. 

On hearts welling with sighs and sobs, 

Where Sorrow has left its deep trace of tears, 

Made bitter by their aching throbs. 

The Grief-stricken Soul can trust and hope 

In the richness of God's love. 

And, even though it here in pain must grope, 

He'll cheer it in that Land, above. 

There are Ties, which spring from the Human heart, 

Spontaneous, swift, and uncalled, 

And by a kind of modest, subtle art, 

Get into Human acts installed. 

By the drafting instincts of their power, 

Are bound in mutual union. 

Men, who in Love live Life's brief, mystic hour. 

Intent on happy communion. 

But in the darker Tragedy of Life, 

It is hard to discover how. 

Amid turmoils and never-ending strife, 

Man removes Cain's mark from his brow. 

Ere he's settled in position or tho't. 

There come corrupt things to disturb. 

Where feelings should be calm, not overwrought. 

With gnawings and aches that uncurb. 



BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 25 

Oft when in hopeful, expectant mood, 

We forget that we're merely dust, 

And class ourselves as altogether good, 

Neglect our duty to be just 

Sometimes a cold and heartless Cynic's smile. 

Accompanied by skilled retort, 

Will ironate the warmest ardor, while 

Gloom's shadows cross the face athwart. 

In Human wickedness, distrust and hate, 

Is born an abundance of 111, 

Which, like Sin, doth True Character derate, 

And in the heart Murder instill. 

The World's most splendorous, glamourous sight. 

Reveals naught to the brain and eye. 

Save sensuality's natural right, 

To meet its own wants, low or high. 

Men often meet graciously in the Strand, 

And seem to like each other well. 

While a flame burns beneath their strike of hand, 

Fiercer than any Demon's spell. 

The world looks on and says they're truly friends ; 

But behind polished make-believe, 

The Spirit of Mortal helpless descends. 

To where others it may deceive. 

Many times we sadly mistake the zeal, 

Of those who must about us flit. 

And thus the basest motives seem such real 

Things of Purity to admit. 

But bye and bye the strongest mask must fall. 

From before what is grossly false. i 

And then, Virtue rising above it all. 

Ever True Character exalts. 

Honor, her pennant proudly holds in air, 
To guide weak and faltering feet. 
Upon the mountain-top of* Faith to share 
Guerdon of safety — strong retreat. 



26 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Grandl}^ indeed, that banner waves on high, 
Its "excelsior" of Hope and Love — 
Brightest Gem, which sparkling studs the sky 
Witli gleams of gladness from above. 

It seems the meanest thing when one must note 

The narrow, shilly-shally grace. 

With which some people, at their best, remote, 

Do wreathe in smiles a frownmg face. 

The Law of Politeness doth make request, 

That, no matter how much we feel 

Like ignoring Gallantry's Meek Behest, 

Our flagrant thoughts we must conceal. 

Sadness sometimes comes to the human heart 
For which account can't be given ; 
Like the shades of some melancholy art. 
Away from its channel driven. 
Tragic may be the writing on the scroll 
Which spreads the Tale of common woe. 
But if Mankind will look beyond that roll, 
The sight relieves — we've found it so. 

Simple Duty, then, would seem to consist 

In observing the Laws of Right, 

And thus Vicious Temptation resist 

By kind acts, be they great or slight, 

Though Man may often wander from the main 

Path by the most successful trod, 

Charity will take him aboard her train. 

And bring him that much nearer God. 

Though the Pythian path's long and dreary. 

With many a heart-rending sight, 

To win the Spur, we must never weary. 

Of the Duty wdiich makes the Knight. 

To be Faithful and always do the Right, 

The Pythian must watch with care, 

That his Works and Prayers are all his might 

A.gainst Sin's imprisoning snare. 



BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 27 

'Tis sad when Calumny with seething breath 

Touches the cheeks of a Being, 

And sears its helpless victim down to Death, 

With what it Knows — 'though not seeing. 

But sadder still when Men will Honor claim, 

To whitewash hearts as vile as Sin; 

And, by the contrast, righteous wrath inflame 

In the minds of those pure within. 

A scoundrel may wear the coat of the sheep, 

To 'deceive his fellow men by. 

But, somehow, his time comes at last to weep, 

Though Fate prolong it till he die. 

Really happy are they who never hear 

Aught said against a living soul, . 

Which they cannot repeat, except with fear, 

Of blasting what they might extol. 

Study well the meaning of that strange spell. 

Which creeps upon Manhood's estate. 

And brings madness beyond tongue to tell — 

Makes one the acts of Mortals hate! 

Let not your precious Soul be narrowed low 

On the plane of a Pessimist, 

When your heart should throb and your cheeks should 

glow, 
In Jov, like a Philantropist. 

Gentlemen of the World may wink and leer, 

At the Pythian' s humble trust, 

In the God who speaks through the Soul so clear. 

Of the Laws he may keep, those he must ; 

But eventually they too will see 

That Real Manhood has the power 

To keep a Knight from Vice, and make him free. 

From danger, in temptation's hour. 

Let not one of our Ideals slip away, 
Through the channels of selfish mood; 
For, we might lose all, in a single day — 



28 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACJSE. 

God's confidence — by being rude. 

Truly blest are the mystic ties which bind 

Hearts together in Faith like ours, 

And give the World the secret where to find 

Friendship's trysting and its powers. 



IN MEMORIUM. 

Now, we'll strew Flowers of Benevolence, 

On each Knight of Pythias' grave; 

Not in the bombast of show or eloquence, 

But in the spirit Master gave. 

And as each Memorial Day comes round, 

We'll take a firmer, better stand. 

On Fraternity's ample, fruitful ground, 

And fill the Lodge with Knights more grand. 

How solemnly mysterious the things 

This day's services do contain! 

Each Sprig of Mint a fond memory brmgs. 

And each Ode ends in soft refrain; 

But Knighthood seems to see behmd them all, 

The Beauty of a Purpose true, 

Which needs must make great effort lest it fall, 

Beneath the force it would subdue. 

Place these Carcanets of Myrtle and Rose, 

With tender, willing, helpful hands. 

To show the deep. Undying Love for those 

Who sleep, in this and other lands. 

We'll ne'er forget the Gratitude we owe, 

To those who moved among us, here. 

And in our own quaking hearts tried to sow. 

The seeds of Honor and Faith, so dear. 

We may ne'er get to hear a battle cry. 
Or see the Tyrant in his rage; 
It may not be ours on the Block to die— 
Because this is a peaceful age — 
But to be true to the Truest that is left, 
We must be up now, and alive, 
To the wants of those alone and bereft- 
Widows and Orphans, who survive. 

We'll attend the sick and the hungry feed— 
There's nothing on Earth to reserve. 



30 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

From dependent Knighthood's general need, 

Which strove the Order to preserve, 

Let Friendship, Charity, Benevolence, 

Outshine other stations in life, 

As the greatest Science of Reverence, 

And worthy our eagerest strife. 

Oh, how solemn, how strange, how new, the things 

The depths of Our Friendship reveal ! 

What Happiness each hour its presence brings, 

In attempts our pain to conceal. 

Inner eyes seem to see about the Soul, 

The candor of a spirit true. 

Which flames high in Love — beyond all control, 

To conquer Self — its pangs subdue, 

Stony hearts of the World may hoot and sneer, 

At Hope within the- Knightly breast. 

And the throbbings which strike so loud and near 

The bottom of what's purest, best — 

But the future may cause them yet to know 

That Virtue hath a charming grace, 

To lift the Soul from pain and make it grow 

In the gladness of Love's sweet place. 

Then it m.ay be that their mockings and jeers 

Will return in sorrow and pain, 

And fill their false lives with quakings and fears; 

Deny Friendship's office to gain. 

We'll be true, then, and honest, each to each ; 

Faithful through verging transition, 

That our lips no vow of heart impeach : 

As becomes the true Patrician. 

We know not what the future has in store: 

Whether Success will be our Fate, 

Or failure mark our steps and shape before 

A Path to lead at rapid rate. 

But we'll believe and trust in earnest .mood. 

Rising from the heart's mystic well, 

To help us meet that fate, as meet we should; 

And the Tale, other folks will tell. 



THE MODERN DUALITY, OR A MAN OF 
THE PERIOD. 

A LECTURE IN SEVEN CHAPTERS. 

CHAPTER FIRST. 

Man in General. — Apostrophe to the world ; Des- 
cription of a Summer's Sunset; Quotation from Owen 
Meredith ; Conclusion to Apostrophe and Mental 
Soliloquization; Quotation from Longfellow; Intro- 
ductory Conclusion to Prologue; A Series of Observa- 
tions ; Man a Zoological Biped ; Man a Duality ; 
Man a Medley of Contradictions ; An Atom in the 
Great Nebular System from which is Deduced the 
Human Family; Correct Method of Value Measure- 
ment; Character the Most Reliable System; Public 
Opinion a Coquettish Mistress; Principle Ultimately 
Triumphs Over Reputation ; Sequent Finale 

Our own beloved Longfellow's 

"Hights by great men reached and kept- 
Were not attained by sudden flight, 
But they, while their companions slept, 
Were toiling upward in the night," 

has ever been a beacon star in the horizon of my life, 
the prime incentive to which all my energies bent. 
Burdened by a cross of ignorance and superstition, 
and fettered by the galling bands of poverty, I began 
digging my way down into the great mine of human 
life with but a single ray of light to guide — hope ; but 
one companion — opportunity ; but one criterion — am- 
bition. Unremittingly were the years passed in pick- 
ing particle by particle from the solid mass of knowl- 



32 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

edge until finally a huge bowlder of the quartz rock 
of experience was brought to surafce, which being 
cast into the crucible of love came forth through pa- 
tience as refined gold in a crown of purest wisdom. 
Thus enthroned with the royal diadem of virtue and 
sceptered by the authority of truth and justice. With 
judgment ripened to a degree of accuracy in the sternest 
school of reality — experience, I come before the public 
in a series of systematic observations on that zoological 
biped called Man and his manifold diversity in character 
and principle. 

"A tiny speck upon the scene where lights and shadows 
meet, 

"A merest atom on a field where joys and sorrows 
fleet ; 

"A simple nothing in the whirl of struggling, seeth- 
ing life. 

"With its greatest, best endeavor, a mere zero in the 
strife. 

"A brief and tired existence, feeble at its greatest 
hight, 

"A flickering star, whose meager beam is quickly lost 
in night. 

"A thing, whose, life and being hangs on a hair-like 
thread, 

"Suspended from a vast unknown where sleep un- 
numbered dead. 

"With mystery for beginning and oblivion at the end. 

"As myraid worlds of atoms ever on an upward trend. 

"Yet this small, presumptuous morsel, with a vision 
lame and dim, 

"Sometimes really thinks the Universe was solely 
made for him." 

Man, as a creature, is a queer sprig of something 
known to the polite world as gentility. Comparative 
to the balance of natural creation, he holds within 
the giintless shades of his own small sphere, a meas- 
ureless expanse of obscurity. That is to say, he has 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 33 

within himself the power to control and explore almost 
every other mystery coming under his notice He 
knows no unconquerable enemy, except Death ; he 
bows subservient to no force less powerful than him- 
self. 

Man is a duality, consisting of persons : — two selves ; 
each as distinctly opposite to the other as are the 
Iwo principal recognized constituents of the Universe, 
matter and energy, opposite to each other. Yet this 
duality in nature is so harmoniously blended as to 
form one complete and unbroken whole. 

He is a medley of contradictions, and at the same 
time an individual consistency. He is not all times 
consistent; he is not at all times inconsistent; but, 
all the days of his life, he is practically both. He is 
as much of the one as of the other. Either charac- 
teristic is becoming to him, because he is unquestion- 
ably and radically both. 

Man is as he is, because of himself, he cannot be 
otherwise. He does as he does, because of himself, 
he cannot do otherwise. I do not intend to advance 
the opinion that he would not be different, or that 
he would not do different, if he could ; but T do mean 
to imply it as my belief that he could not if he would. 

It is said of a plethoric swain, and the thought 
amply illustrates the idea thus far brought out, that 
one pleasant evening he hied himself henceward to the 
domicile of his lady love and gallantly escorted her 
fo the theater. His conduct during the evening was 
no different than that of others belonging to the 
genteel and altogether exclusive set, who absented 
themselves almost simultaneously from box, parquet 
and dress circle, between acts, on the pretext of need- 
ing to see a man on the outside. Finally the curtain 
for the last rolled down and the particular couple in 
question started for home. The lady's name was 
Maude, and for quite a distance these young people 
walked in silence, Maude, to all appearances, totally 
absorbed with her own reflections. Presently the 
monotony began to be oppressive. To liven mat- 



34 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 



ters the young man said: "Maude, what is the matter? 
You seem to have forgotten my presence, altogether.*' 
She repHed : "I am trying to solve a problem." "May 
I ask what it is?" responded he, suavely. "I was 
wondering," she continued, "whether when you went 
out between • acts, you took whiskey to drown the 
scent of the cloves, or took cloves to kill the fumes of 

the whiskey. In either case ." "Well, in either 

case, then, what?" questioned he, interestedly. "In 

either case it was a signal failure, for I could 

smell the whiskey through the cloves just as easy 
as I could smell the cloves through the whiskey." 

There is that innate desire rising instinctively and 
unbidden from the human heart to be and to do the 
best, but because of an inborn duality, the animal of 
which submits most readily to an unnatural trans- 
formation, and gains predominancy over the psychical, 
he can only act in antagonism to that which sober 
judgment decides is best. Either consciously, or un- 
consciously, all things patent to the predominant force 
yield abject obeisance to it. This is a fixed principle. 

Sometime, somewhere, somehow, the impression has 
come to each and every individual that he or she might 
rise higher than the common level of sensual satisfac- 
tion, and physical contentment. The mind, ever active, 
is ceaseless and untiring in its endeavors to bring the 
individual morally to its own elevation, which is ever 
and always above and beyond the present. This is 
hope. 

Men are neither all good, nor all bad To possess 
either character in the absolute to the exclusion of 
the other, would of itself, disfranchise the individual of 
all things Earthly; give him a doubtful heritage in 
Eternity. Saints are the one. Demons are the other. 
But all men are both good and bad. Either principle 
is becoming to them, because each is absolutely and 
unalterably both. The "eternal fitness of things" de- 
mands that he, man, "the capstone of the climax of 
paradoxes," should be just as he is, that the qualifi- 
cations for Eternal Citizenship may be more clearly 
zipparent to the careful and observant. 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 35 

Directly in line with the teachings of the Bard of 
Avon, the good men do in this life dies not with them, 
but lives on, through succeeding generations to com- 
fort and to bless, until, like some benedictional tradi- 
tion, it is remembered in a sort of worshipful rev- 
erence. Likewise the evil survives the mortal activity 
of its progenitors to pursue posterity as a curse- 
freighted menace to the growth and advancement of 
*.heir morals Everlasting may be the good and in- 
destructible the evil — aye blessed becomes the virtue 
and damning the vice, which emanate from the con- 
duct of men after they, themselves, have ceased to 
exist. 

Each individual is an atom in the greatj the mys- 
terious system, from which is deduced the human 
family. As the loss of a smgle atom in the construc- 
tion of a complete material whole is unestimable, even 
so is the value of a man, incalculable. A man's worth 
is not to be expressed in the terms employed to indi- 
cate the commercial value of so much aqua, salt, 
calcine, carbon and glue ; neither by prettily worded 
epitaphs deeply graven in polished marble — for mar- 
kets fluctuate and monuments of stone crumble into 
dust, leaving no rule by which to calculate and no 
solid surface upon to chisel. How, then, will you 
accurately estimate the worth of a man? Ah, there's 
the stickler — the dead rocks and shoals upon which 
many a gallant bark has been shattered ! In view of 
all this, how will you accurately estimate the worth 
of a man? 

The most reliable system of measurement seems to 
be character, the bulletin-board of what a man is, what 
he is doing, what influence he exerts in the world. 
\s a fundamental doctrine, it should never be over- 
looked or forgotten that character is what we really 
are. Reputation is merely what others, perforce of 
occasion and circumstances chance to think we are. 

Public opinion, or reputation, is perhaps one of the 
most uncertain and irresponsible things with which 
mankind associates. To-day, mayhap, she sounds the 



36 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

tocsin .of glorious achievement in behalf of a fellow- 
creature, and in laudatory phrase sings his preference 
to the skies, thus causing even the minutest com- 
munities to do him homage. To-morrow, with a 
bewitching twirl of her treacherous wand, he is buried 
beyond all hope of resurrection beneath a mountain of 
calumny. Indeed, is public opinion the coquettish mis- 
tress of the reputational destiny of men, whose every 
caprice has in it some whimsical proportion of success 
or failure for every man, woman and child. 

A patronizing tone of her enchanting voice, or a sin- 
gle glance from her sparkling eyes, brings the world 
prostrate at her feet. On one she smiles gracefully, 
approvingly; on another, she frowns contemptuously. 
Thus reputations are created and destroyed by whatever 
mood this sportive goddess may be in at the time of 
speaking her mind. 

With character it is different. A man wins only 
what he merits. All of the superficial blandishments 
he may flourish will not gain for him one single per 
cent more of credit than justly belongs to him 

Many times men, whose hearts are as black with 
corruption as the smutted walls of the infernal regions, 
wash the outward filth and grime from their hands 
in Pluto's popular stream and float complacently with 
the tide as fondled favorites. On the other hand, men 
whose every motive and impulse were as true as steel 
have been ruthlessly thrust into the pit of ignominy 
simply because, and for no other reason than that 
this flirting queen of public estimation frowned on 
them with disfavor. 

Ordinarily the contrast between these two conditions 
would seem to be in advantage of public opinion, or 
reputation, but when the great searchlight of Truth 
is turned on, and mortality can see to the bottom of 
every impulse and understand the motive : when by 
Faith a glimpse can be had beyond time and the pres- 
ent, then it is that character and not reputation, ap- 
pears most triumphant. 

You can determine the innermost of a man by look- 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 37 

ing at him, no more than you can classify the analyt- 
ical components of water by tasting it. Each mortal 
of earth is a creature of times and circumstances. The 
grimy garb of rags serving to in a way protect his 
body from piercing winds and biting frosts, may be 
but so much evidence of the many drops of blood 
sweat in the agonies of the world's Gethsemena, in an 
honest effort against fate to sustain himself and his. 
In short, not every man is a vagrant who happens to 
wear soiled clothes and does menial service for a mor- 
sel of food and a place to lodge at night; because it 
often happens that the elegant and costly suit of broad- 
cloth fails of getting paid for, and that labor with most 
people is a matter of necessity, rather than a thing of 
choice. 

The great want of this age, says one writer, is men. 
Men who aie not for sale. Men who are honest, sound 
from center to circumference, true to the heart's core. 
Men who wM condemn wrong in friend or foe, in 
themselves as well as others. Men whose consciences 
are steady as the needle to the pole. Men who will 
stand for the right if the heavens totter and the earth 
reels. Men who can tell the truth and look the truth; 
and look the world and the devil right in the eye. Men 
that neither brag nor run. Men that neither flag nor 
flinch. 

Men who can have courage without whistling for it, 
and joy without shouting to bring it. Men in whom the 
current of everlasting life runs still and deep and strong. 
Men too large for sectarian limits, and too strong for 
sectarian bonds. Men who do not strive, nor cry, nor 
cause their voices to be heard in the streets, but who 
will not fail nor be discouraged till judgment be set on 
earth. Men who know their duty and do it. Men who 
know their place and fill it. Men who mind their own 
business. Men who will not lie. Men who are not too 
lazy to work, nor to proud to be poor. Men who are 
willing to eat what they have earned, and earn what 
they have paid for. 



3S BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 



CHAPTER SECOND. 

HOME. — Motive for Sentiment and Feeling; 
Thoughtless Days ; Pleasant and Unpleasant Experi- 
ences ; Dearest Spot on Earth; Counsel Room and 
Hearthstone ; Common Court Where All Matters in the 
Household Are Brought for Adjudication; Father's 
Justice and Judgment ; Mother's Kindness and Sympa- 
thy Toward Offenses and The Offenders ; The Mecca 
to Which the Thoughts of the Homeless Ever Turn ; 
Haven of Every Child's Refuge, the Rirthplace of 
Earthly Institutions ; Woman's Exclusive World, etc.. 

Home ! What currents of sentiment and feeling the 
mere utterance of that one word sets in motion ! What 
a vast multitude of memories crowd to the fore at the 
simple thought of that most significant of words, home ! 
Recollections outline in all the vividness of an ever- 
present reality, the experiences, both pleasant and un- 
pleasant, properly belonging to the embryonic days of 
childhood. The pleasant experiences are reviewed with 
gladness and satisfaction ; the unpleasant experiences 
are just as closely attended by regrets and inward pain. 
Oh, that the innocence of childhood might not be pol- 
luted by the blighting taint of error ! Sweeter, indeed, 
would be the memories "as fond recollections present 
them to view;" grander would be the manhood, nobler 
the womanhood, and more sublime the endeavor, as on- 
ward we march to old age and the end. But why fosjer 
the thought of realizing such sanguine hopes for the 
mortals of earth, since century after century has wit- 
nessed simply a repetition of the natural round in 
domestic affairs from one generation to another? The 
proposition that a blushing, modest maiden shall for- 
sake father, mother, sister and brother, and cut off all 
her associates, to join her prospects with those of a 
man presupposes the establishment of a home, and 
subsequently the maintenance and rearing of children. 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 39 

That home may be good or bad, happy or unhappy, 
pleasant or unpleasant, christian or unchristian, just in 
whatever degree the makers thereof incline to good or 
evil. The prime incentive rising to the dignity of legiti- 
mate home construction is a condition apparent only 
after men and women pass bej^ond the bounds of mere 
friendship through the portals of that sphere where 
nectared exaggeration is the bodiless substance upon 
which passion-stricken mortals thrive, and have said all 
to each other that any two usually say who meet as 
strangers and finally through the process of continued 
intimacy decide to face the joys and vicissitudes of life 
as one. Love, that indefinable, that all-enrapturing 
something — that mysterious, pleasure-fraught under- 
current sweeping like gentle zephyrs through the web- 
less fabric of hnman being is the only basis upon which 
substantial and lasting happiness can be successfully 
reared. It is a passion, which when fanned into life by 
sentimental associaiions knows no law, obeys no man- 
date, yields to no government, except itself, and ulti- 
mately becomes so tremendous in its force as to baffle 
the powers of humanity in controlling it. The power to 
love comes from heaven, and when not uncurbed by evil 
is as the after-melody of an enchanting strain of music, 
or the rythm of a bright, new song and sparkles in its 
freshness like dewdrops new-kissed by the golden mes- 
sengers of morning. What love-lorn maiden does not 
in her hopeful, expectant moments allow imagination 
to cast her delicate pinions across the vale of anticipa- 
tion and weave a network of dreams about orange blos- 
soms, wedding chimes, a bridal veil and a happy home? 
What woman is there who has not confessed to herself, 
if not to others, the wish that her ideal knightly hero, 
her affection-crowned king, might become the embodi- 
ment of real flesh and blood, seeking the richest gem 
in the casket of values — her hand — with her heart, the 
quintessence of her whole soul within it? This is the 
first, the last, the highest, the greatest ambition of a 
true woman's life, to "love and be loved in return." 
With that fortification she can live down hatred, bid 



40 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

defiance to enmity, destroy jealousy and create emolu- 
ments ipr the human race. Give her a loom of felicity 
with a shuttle of confidence, and she will, from the 
warp and woof of maternity weave a purple robe of 
chastity for her household and clothe herself in honor 
with the sweetest word in any language spoken by the 
tongues of men — mother — the captive chain of earth, 
the touchstone to heaven, the synonym of God. 

Home — the place, dearest spot on earth — where child- 
hood's comforts and culture are planned and pursued; 
the place, most sacred to heart, where father and 
mother, and sisters and brother, were wont to meet 
around the family hearthstone to chat and counsel, or 
to engage in many a merry romp and game ; the com- 
mon court, where all matters of domestic jurisprudence 
were brought in appeal for adjudication. Who does not 
recall in after years how just and impartial father tried 
to be in all his judgments; or, how kind and sympa- 
thetic mother was toward offences and the offenders? 
Who does not feel some pangs of regret because of his 
meanness and ingratitude for benefits received at a 
time when he or she was no less than a nuisance and at 
best but little better than a subject of toleration? Home 
is the Mecca to which the thoughts of the homeless are 
ever turning; the Utopia, which fills the sleepless nights 
of indigent wanderers with visions of ample store as 
comforts unto the commonweal. How gladly would 
many who possess so few of the comforts of this life 
and control so little of this world's goods that the 
azure dome of heaven is their only shelter, sunlight 
their only means of warmth and a tuft of greensward 
their only pillow, accept the genial hospitality of that 
home which once was theirs for the choosing? But 
alas! the changes of time have swept all possibility of 
recovery beyond human skill. The mistakes of the past 
cannot be so amended as to bring back the advantages 
then lost. Home is that haven of rest to which heart- 
sick, sin-bedraggled mariners course their frail barks, 
tossed hither and yon by the surging billows on life's 
tumbling sea of sorrow and adversity. It is "the holiest 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 41 

of holies," the city of every child's refuge; it is the 
eternal fixture in the birth and maintenance of earthly 
institutions; it is the Eden of lasting friendship and 
tender affiliations ; it is woman's exclusive realm, the 
small domain over which she reigns imperial queen ; it 
is the schoolroom of infancy and its influences are man- 
ifold, far-reaching and 'sublime. As a complement to 
home-life it can h<^ truly said that woman is a graceful 
creature to whose whims man caters as he would obey 
statute law. She moves the world with a smile or a 
tear ; her opinion?; voiced, shape the purposes of nations 
to noble ends; she can have, at will, the grade of hu- 
manity best suited lo her tastes. If she wants noble 
manhood, she ha^ only to require it ; if she is satisfied 
with degraded manhood, that is all she can expect ; and, 
unfortunately, she has not been strict, as a rule, in her 
requirements and the race has suffered accordingly. 

Home is the place where a man's true measurement is 
taken. 'Tis here that he lays aside his mask and bares 
his breast for penetration. He may masquerade at the 
market-place, as a popular barterer ; in the forum, as a 
careful magistrate ; on the street corner, a good-natured 
fellow; by the field, an industrious husbandman; but in 
his own home is to be learned whether he be an imp or 
angel, king or cur, hero or humbug. It matters not 
what the world says of him, whether he be coronated 
with kingly jewels or bathed in ancient eggs; it mat- 
ters nothing as to his reputation : if his babies dread his 
coming and his wife swallows her heart every time she 
speaks to him, he is a clear- water fraud ; he may pray 
till exhausted; keep the neighbors awake with songs of 
Zion, and shout hallelujah in tones of thunder from the 
eternal hills — he's a fraud. A pertinent question arises 
here: Why is it that men — some men — husbands and 
fathers, can be and are all sauvity and afTableness on the 
street, in society and at their places of business, to those 
with whom they come in contact — even going so far in 
their overtures of politeness toward others as to win 
the encomium "generous and jovial," yet just so soon as 
they leave the bustling mart and dizzy whirl of society 



^2 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

to enter the privacy of home they and good manners 
part at the gateway? Instead of greeting the innocent 
prattlers that rush joyfully to meet him with a merry, 
hearty romp, and his wife with a tender smile and kiss 
of affection, why is it that this counterfeit make-shift 
of a husband and father pushes the little ones roughly 
aside with a harsh, "stay there, now, and don't you 
move," and frowns on her of tender heart with a with- 
ering sneer, which carries in it all the ignoble traits of 
paternal bossism and domestic autocracy? If he can be 
pleasant to others, he can be pleasant to his family; 
if he don't do it, he's a hypocrite. A man has no right 
to apportion his gra-ces to his friends and dish up his 
tyranny to his family. His wife and children have 
claims he cannot ignore; if he has not learned that he's 
unfit to assume the obligations of a parent. But are 
men the ones always most at fault as touching house- 
hold disharmonies? Verily we shall see. Reason does 
not admit an eft'ect without a cause, and a single glance 
behind the scene may reveal startling thiiigs. The bane 
of most human lives is due to a lack of prudence, and 
perhaps in no sense is the cause for woe more apparent 
than in matters of modern lo^-e-making. Were young 
folks, and old ones, too, for that matter, more judi- 
cious in the selection of life-companions, there would be 
less sorrow and disappointment, fewer life-long regrets, 
less: reason for divorce-court intervention. Young men 
discuss fashion, talk nonsense, and whisper love, be- 
cause it is comparatively easy to make indiscriminate 
remarks, especially when the dear girl seems pleased 
with such foolishness and no opposition arises, no esti- 
mate of opinion is at stake. To discuss intelligently, 
science, art, literature, music, economics, government, 
antiquities, mythology, history, and the like, requires 
unflagging energy of body, unwavering fidelity to 
study, adroit accumulation and a carefully stored re- 
source of memory. The average young man and young 
woman can dissertate on senseless frivolities and enjoy 
sentimental slush to far better advantage than they can 
contemplate differentiation. The majority of young 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 43 

ladies are not seeking intellectual and moral capabilities 
near so much as they are looking for a "dear fellow" 
of "swell" appearance and pleasing adeptness in the 
wiles of fascination. No very great inducements are 
held out for merit and active manhood, hence young 
men study only to attract the carnal eye and thus be- 
come merely succedaneums in the rank and file of the 
Vv'orld's celebrities ; indigents of earth's husbandmen. 
In this matter both men and women are at fault. 
Women, as a rule, do not demand a higli standard of 
moral worth, and men are not apt to stock the market 
with an unsalable article. Yet withal, this same faithless 
offspring of Adam assumes the sacred responsibilities 
of parentage with no brighter prospects than incon- 
stancy and divorce. If the women of this age would 
require that each man aspiring for favor should be aM 
that constitutes true manhood — would set a plausible 
example, infidelity would drop out of the world as 
effectually as witchcraft became a lost art. When hus- 
bands and wives disagree, it is usually the fault of both 
of them ; when they agree, it is due to the effort of both 
of them. This is an incontrovertable rule, an immutable 
law. If the husband makes as much effort to hide all 
his shortcomings from his wife as he did to hide them 
from his sweetlieart ; if the wife tries as hard to keep 
her imperfections in the background — strives with the 
same earnestness to keep herself wreathed in smiles in 
the presence of her husband as she did in the presence 
of her lover; if both of them keep themselves as 
anxious to settle an argument without debate, after 
marriage, as before, there can be no domestic rebellions, 
no household insurrections, no need for judicial treaties 
of peace. The little government known as the home, 
would, under such administration, move under the 
pleasant restraint of civil service without appeal to 
jurist arbitration. The whole system of matrimonial 
suzerainty, reduced to diplomacy, is this: Persons mar- 
rying should be mentally and physically equal; they 
should be in touch with all that constitutes moral con- 
geniality; they should be naturally adapted to each 



44 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACJSE. 

other, with positive and negative refraction of dispo- 
sition — that is to say, each must be a certain mental 
and moral magnet to the other; they should be equal 
in rank and station; the leader of fashion would hardly 
be compatible to her father's coachman; they should 
understand domestic economy and household govern- 
ment ; they should treaty with peace as touching all 
things having to deal with their happiness and the com- 
fort of those about them; they should not go at matri- 
mony as they would if purchasing a piano, sewing 
machine or carriage; they should know that to them 
and to the sacred state of matrimonial existence be- 
longs the responsibility of furnishing the world with 
healthful and honorable posterity ; that as they, hus- 
bands and wives live, just so will their children be apt 
to live after them; that when love and common sense 
reign supreme it is as impossible to have a domestic 
quarrel or a family jar, as it woud be to get rain from 
a cloudless sky at noonday; that a pair of bewitching 
eyes in her and a fascinating smile from him, should 
not become the basis upon which the marriage cere- 
mony is set ; that marital relations should be consid- 
ered while the individual is in full possession of all his 
or her faculties — fewer mistakes were recorded did 
people do this. 

Home is the source of felicity where friend and foe, 
master and servant, lover and sweetheart, brother and 
sister, father and mother, run counter-current to each 
other in the delusive eddyings of love and hatred, truth 
and error, fact and falsehood, fidelity and (fifidelity, 
hope and despair, and whatsoever else there 'je in the 
conditions of unchanging variety in the movement of 
passions. Of all the rest, somehow I like friendship, 
because it at once and always , implies an affection 
purged of all the impurities of self-devotion. Love, as 
applied to connubial relationship is one of the most 
selfish passions that assume proportion in the general 
make-up of human nature — unreasonable and exacting 
in all of its requirements no opportunity is given for 
that liberality of kind intercourse so essential to the full 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 45 

measure of mortal welfare and happiness. An exordial 
exegesis of the elements from which the terms love 
and friendship are taken would involve at least the first 
principles of secular intercourse, as touching individ- 
uals, families, communities, states and nations, in their 
primitive, as well as in their cardinal relations to suc- 
cess or failure, joy or misery, as bound by the limits of. 
home and society. The stability of home influence is 
not dependent so much upon that intangible energy 
which instinctively separates kindred spirits from the 
common throng and binds them in felicitous fealty, as 
it is upon that indefinable rationality rising unbidden 
from the human heart to pity and to sympathize, and 
which, in its matchless movement through man's nature 
builds character that desires to correct error without 
offending it, to strengthen principle by encouraging it. 
The first is love sentimentally endowed; the latter 
friendship fundamentally enthroned. That hearthstone 
is not substantial, nor do I count its influence edifying 
or enduring, which has no firmer foundation than 
momentary blindness to fault — sentiment. Sentimen- 
tality seldom, if ever, gets deeper in feeling and value 
than the surface, wherever and whatever that may be, 
•while that broader sympathy which unites hearts and 
society in the most comprehensive conception of their 
virtue and usefulness strikes at the center and bottom 
of social possibility like unto a spiritual laxative, mov- 
ing gracefully away all impurity just so far and just 
so fast as its presence becomes the leading force and 
most active principle. Were I writing marriage ethics 
one of the first, if not the first requirements would pre- 
scribe that no home be permitted by law or otherwise 
where the aspirants for such station are not the best 
of friends. Friendship seeks, protects, defends; senti- 
ment indulges ignores, forgets — wraps itself and its, 
in a cloak of exculsiveness unstable, undefensive, sel- 
fish. Sentimentality is the handmaid of lust, and her 
chief office seems to be the gratification of sensual 
desire; friendship is the companion of faith, and stands 
as the central support to the tabernacle of hope and 



46 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

charity, and furnishes joy for time and eternity. Per- 
sonally, I could not violate the dignity of moral man- 
hood to the degree that marriage with a woman in 
whom T did not confide absolutely, would imply. I 
could not marry the woman I did not love, respect 
and honor. These three principles belong to friend- 
ship and not to sentiment. In short, true love is nothing 
less than friendship purified, and never can lose its iden- 
tity in sentiment. As a case in point, I now recall an inci- 
dent in real life which was brought to my notice during 
a sojourn in Chicago, recently. The youngest daughter 
of respectable parents became infatuated with a like- 
diseased young man a few years ago. Perhaps no 
sadder fate could have befallen her of tender suscepti- 
bilities, in this world of uncertainty and circumstances, 
than to learn to love that man deeply, truly, passion- 
ately, and at last through his perfidy and fickleness 
be driven to despair. A lass of sixteen summers un- 
fitted from a lack of education and experience to com- 
bat the seductive influences environing her she ruth- 
lessly admitted to the sacred domain of her budding 
womanhood, associations coming in the guise of 
friendship but rotten at heart with sentimental treach- 
ery. Uninitiated in the inquitous ways of vice and 
uninstructed in the safest principles of moral rectitude 
her confidence was easily won by the sly artifices of 
the man she afterwards married. To her, simple trust 
and implicit confidence were synonymous to virtue 
and a major chord in the anthem of life. The world 
opened out to her, as it has to myriads of others, a 
great, grand, pleasure-bringing fact, and mankind 
was accepted as it seemed. No thought entered the 
young innocent's mind that things are not always 
what they appear to be, nor that existence through 
the coming years might after all be to her 
an empty dream — an endless night of suffering as a 
penalty for her Qiisobedience to the counselings of 
father and mother. . Her confidence once won she 
looked upon the world and her admirer in a new 
aspect. Inspiringly the great searchlight of her con- 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 47 

fiding nature penetrated the filial atmosphere about 
her, and cast a brilliant shaft far out over the sea 
of anticipation and from its chaotic blackness re- 
flected back bright visions of her noblest self in the 
personage of him she had learned to trust. The open 
frankness of his soul, apparently revealed in every 
act performed, in every word spoken, and in every 
glance from his eye ■"» proved to be a winning appeal 
for all she held deav. By one sweep of his master- 
ful presence she bowed, his subservient slave. Her 
heart, her soul, her divinest hopes, her loftiest ambi- 
tion, each, all, at once became his to lift up and cher- 
ish, or to degrade and ruin at will. The marriage 
was opposed by the patents of the girl, and upon 
substantial grounds, too, but the selfishness of sen- 
timental exclusiveness prompted an elopement and 
a clandestine ceremony. The young husband wearied 
of the novelty in a comparatively few months and as 
a natural consequence began to neglect his wife, by 
seeking pleasure among questionable associates around 
other firesides than his own. This condition of afifairs 
was kept up until separation became imperative as a 
relief to a deluded and heart-broken woman, who now 
must endure the anguish of blighted hopes renewed 
by every kiss she imprints upon the brow of the 
son left in her care, who bears in his rosy counten- 
ance something of the image of both herself and her 
betrayer. Had this man been truly a friend to the 
woman he called wife, that friendship of itself would 
have shut out every other association not brought with- 
in the sacred precinct of her society, and the son 
coming to them would have been the third eolden 
link in the chain of enduring af^liation, which has in 
it peace, hope and happiness. To suffer through his 
recklessness and treachery did not seem, to lessen her 
devotion for him, but to the contrary, rather increased 
it until a certain limit was reached when patience and 
forbearance ceased to be a virtue, then she in all_ the 
desperation of pent-up fury felt the love-passion within 



48 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

her changing to hatred — miserable, terrifying, deadly 
hatred — as blasting in its raging nature as the warmth 
preceding it was blessed. This case is but one more 
testimony to the theory that when a woman learns to 
love a man truly, honestly, devotedly, whether she be 
his mother, sister or his sweetheart, she has no in- 
terests not identified with his own. She as intuitively 
clings to him as the clambering ivy clings to the mon- 
archal oak, until every root and branch has decayed — 
the trunk rotted to its very heart — every vestige of 
manhood forsaken him, and he, like some noxious 
thing of the forest dense and deep, or like a specter 
cloud in a winter's sky. drops out of existence, silent- 
ly, unmourned. and unredeemed, into the mysterious 
and unalterable vale of nonent'.ty. Thus we are left 
with the final conclusion, that, for the man who delib- 
erately and purposely wins a young woman's warmest 
regards only to cast her and them ofif as a child lays 
aside some tired-of plaything, there should be no sym- 
pathy; no penalty too severe for the reprehension of 
his crime. He is a moral leper, a social vampire feed- 
ing on hideous principles, a menace to integrity and 
honor; a monster to be shunned as the poisonous 
fumes of some vile decoction; he should be excluded 
from the society of honorable men and women, and 
avoided as a spirit of the unrespectable. The high- 
wayman, the pilferer, or the midnight assassin, are 
each and all better than he; for, they at their worst 
can but relieve one of property and deorive of life, 
while he robs her of tender heart of life, honor, integ- 
rity, hope, friends and happiness; and. above all. be- 
trays the most sacred trust of a human being! It 
is human to imagine that when the Great King comes 
in power and glory to make up His jewels, no soul 
will be more welcome or more precious, no hands 
will gather sweeter flowers or strew richer garlands 
in the land of Paradise, than she who is unjustly per- 
secuted, betrayed and cast out here. 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 49 



CHAPTER THIRD. 

EDUCATION. — Meaning and Scope; the Two 
Conditions Distinguishing Individuals; Knowledge a 
Systematic Accumulation of Facts; Joy of Culture and 
Refinement; Difiference Between Education and Book- 
Learning; Schools Not Exclusive Educators; The 
First Institution of Learning; Adam and Eve's First 
Lesson From Text Book of Experience; An Impor- 
tant Factor in Educational Development; Intellect- 
ual Gold; Moral Ornament and Mental Exchange; 
Parents the First and Chief Instructors; Metaphorical 
Gem. 

Education! What immensity of meaning is wrapped 
up in that simple collection of letters; over 'what a 
vast and fertile area of tillable surface it spans! Gib- 
bon wisely said: "Every person has two educations; 
one which he receives from others, and one more im- 
portant, which he gives to himself," and to the 
trained eye and brain of the scholar it seems clear that 
there are virtually but two conditions distinguishing 
individuals: one is knowledge; the other, a lack of it — 
ignorance. Either condition is a matter of choice 
or necessity and assigns to the solemn pages of his- 
tory the fateful record of cause and effect as tempered 
by the competency or incompetency of its possessor. 

Knowledge is the direct result of study, instruction, 
observation and experience — a systematic accumula- 
tion of facts upon which the mind may render just and 
impartial judgment and by which memory is stored 
with information concerning persons, places and 
things. The action of the mind upon facts thus ob- 
tained produces what is commonly recognized as cul- 
ture and accomplishment: polish to nature, as it were. 
Ignorance is evidence of the lack of all this and the 
strongest symbol of barbarism. Locke in the beauty 
of philosophy gives utterance to the belief that "The 
last resort a man has recourse to in the conduct of 



50 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

himself is his understanding," and human intercourse 
seems to justify the conviction that there is no joy so 
complete to refined nature as refinement. There is 
nothing to be more thoroughly enjoyed, aside from 
contemplating the best thought of cultured people as 
it appears in their books, than simply reclining in the 
balmy atmosphere of genius and absorbing the benign 
influence of the genteel. No person can pursue this 
course for any length of time and fail to* reflect some 
proportion of that influence in his or her customs and 
manners. It is a doctrine worthy of belief that a life 
directed by association with the truly cultured cannot 
in that be shaped amiss, because the preliminary steps 
to such exaltation signify the unconditional surrender 
of all false assumption and superstitious coarseness, 
and the unequivocal adoption of studious habits, to- 
gether with a gradually growing preference for intel- 
lectual superiors. Open frankness when regulated by 
prudence is a characteristic most admirable in anyone. 
Perhaps one of the most detestable and withal mis- 
leading practices of some grades of modern society are 
found in the operation of that sort of superficial mod- 
esty assumed by many "chalk and water" people, 
which compels one to guess at everything about them 
— their ages and complexions not excepted. It is not 
what a man or woman appears to be, but that which 
he or she really is; constitutes the measure of merit 
which establishes his or her claim to the distinction 
of. lady or gentleman, scholar or ignoramus. It is 
not the creed adopted, nor the articles of faith sub- 
scribed to, but rather the knowledge which is put into 
practice that counts as vice or virtue. Whatever a 
man is he is, in spite of all the pedantic displays he 
may exhibit to the contrary. Wealth is a very poor 
substitute, even in the commercial sense, for gentility 
and intelligence, though perhaps the latter can best be 
"shown off in company" by the habiliments afforded 
of a large possession of the former. But when reality 
is gone after and considered from the standpoint of 
what it must be, then to the genuine student is re- 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 



51 



vealed the value of a beautiful self in a coarser tene- 
ment of clay. In the clearer presence of individual 
excellence all reckless foibles, chimerical fancies and 
sham reserve appear at a painful disadvantage. Re- 
finement is wealth to a degree, but it is not so certain 
a thing that wealth is refinement. In truth one is the 
measure and the other the means by which the intrin- 
sic worth of men and women is estimated; that is to 
say, refinement is the result of long and tedious dis- 
cipline, while wealth is the means by which opportu- 
nity for carefully and accurately burnishing nature to 
an animated and graceful interest in mental power and 
capability is attracted. The repulsiveness of discul- 
ture is most keenly felt by those of delicate accom- 
plishments. Just as some ethereal fabric yields soiled 
surface in the presence of baser elements, even so and 
likewise contrasts the sheen of intelligence with the 
grimy hues of ignorance. There is a joy in the so- 
ciety of the cultured, even though no speech find the 
pleasing shape of utterance. The aesthetic atmosphere 
touching the erudite sweeps across the path of ignor- 
ance and tutors it in the finer sensibilities of finished 
character. 

Education, then, is simply a broadening and deep- 
ening of the powers of mind, evolving as it were, 
thought minutia into the largest and best of which 
they are capable, and sharpening the perceptions to 
the keenest realization of their existence and surround- 
ings. There is a marked difiference between education 
and learning. A person may be familiar with the tech- 
nicality of books: he or she may be able to repeat by 
rote the gist of their contents, and still lack many of 
the qualifying principles in the ultimate of his or her 
education. On the other hand, an individual may 
lack somewhat of the technics and yet be furnished 
with a competency to meet the practical requirements 
of everyday life far superior in degree to that possessed 
by him who confined himself wholly to the college or 
university curriculum. What truth in the teaching'- of 
Pythagoras, the Greek philosopher, -who said: "The 



52 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE, 

desire to know contains not always the faculty to ac- 
quire." The real and the unreal, the ficial and the su- 
perficial, the practical and the impractical are forever 
battling against each other. The real, or educated 
man or woman is the complement in some part of all 
that signifies proper development. The superficial, or 
book-learned only, is simply an indecipherable out- 
put of mechanical institutions, and may be in a sense 
popular, but ultimates eventually in unseemly traits. 
Mental and moral development is a matter far- 
reaching in its import. It has to deal with the 
world's virtue and usefulness as imbedded in the hearts 
of its people. It touches every home and re- 
dounds to the value of every institution. De- 
velopment of the mental and moral faculties implies 
education and education always implies in some 
degree teaching. Every human being is a creature 
of education, and as such remains from the ingress to 
exodus. All that is seen, heard and associated with 
during the natural course of life, has some humble 
part to perform in the drama of mortal career — makes 
some contribution to the store of human knowledge. 
Schools are not the exclusive educators; pedagogues, 
not the only instructors — in fact they can be but the 
promoters of the beginning. Book-learning is a 
knowledge of the contents of books, while the educa- 
tion which follows that and other processes is the de- 
velopment of nature commensurate to the limits of 
itself. Whatever, then, develops the man from neophyte 
to sage in his fullest capacity, that is his educator. 
Therefore, a period of study confined wholly to the 
narrow latitude of books, results simply in a good, bad 
or indifferent erudition of men, while to unshackle the 
mind and ascribe to it the freedom of the infinite wins 
to the action and the individual a deeper, clearer and 
more practical familiarity with what is to be acquired. 
The first institution of learning was established soon 
after the creation and at the beginning of the first cen- 
tury of the world's existence when Adam and Eve 
took their first lesson from the text-book of experi- 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 53 

ence in the Garden of Eden; and through all of the 
ages since then men and women have received their 
first instructions in the first schoolroom— The Home. 
This fact, then, furnishes us with the theory that the 
home of a child is the first and most important factor 
in the primary development of its natural propensities. 
The word child implies the man or woman of a few 
years hence, and therefore places us in the presence of 
innumerable possibilities. 

The founding of the first university occurred at Ox- 
ford by King Alfred in 872, King Philip II. following 
with the University of Paris in 1200. The first col- 
lege of the University of Cambridge is said to have 
been founded by Hugo, Bishop of Ely, in the year 
1257. These were followed by the German Empire 
at Prague, tv8; University of Edinburg, 1582; Trin- 
ity College. Dublin, 1591; Harvard, 1636; Yale, Say- 
brook, Conn., 1700, afterward, New Haven, 1716. These 
latter were antedated somewhat by William and Mary 
College, established 1617, building erected at Williams- 
burg, Virginia, 1693. tt • j 

For two hundred and fifty-nine years the United 
States has given the- children an opportunity to ac- 
quire an education by means of town schools 'which 
were established by legislation about the year 1642. 
Dear old Connecticut was the first of the states to take 
active steps in that direction, a school having been 
opened at Hartford. Massachusetts was a close second 
and opened the first common school in 1645, but three 
years later. These schools of two hundred fifty odd 
years ago, presented the primitive opportunities in 
America for people in the ordinary walks of life. They 
formed the nucleus about which has clustered the in- 
fluences leading up to the grander educational insti- 
tutions of to-day. 

Statistics show that in 1899, there were 16,738,363 
pupils receiving education in the United States. Indi- 
ana had 556,651 pupils enrolled, or 24.61 per cent of its 
population, with an average daily attendance of 424,- 
725. This work gave employment to 15,488 teachers. 



54 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Child-study became the earnest Hfe-work of such 
men as John Knox, Robert Raikes, Pestalozzi and 
others, 'who gave to humanity the system of child-cul- 
ture most worthy of place among all the accepted ed- 
ucational systems extant. To them, and especially 
to Pestalozzi, is due an uncancellable debt of grati- 
tude for the kindergarten method now so popular in, 
this country and in Europe. The extreme limits of 
psychology, pedagogy and anthropology have been 
traversed for the benefit of rising generations, and as 
teachers advance in their search for knowledge along 
this particular line their concern increases because of 
the responsibility accompanying individual influence 
and instruction; and, it is with a keen sense of what 
each will be held accountable for in at least two worlds 
that shapes out and deepens their interest as to what 
and when and how they shall teach. The early years 
of child-life are filled with serious fact — r.o doubts, nor 
fears, nor reasonings — but solemn, serious fact. With 
intellectual faculties as susceptible to impressions as a 
lump of plastic molder's wax, and fully as unrelaxing 
in the tenacity with which they retain those impres- 
sions, the little "bunch of possibilities" starts on its 
first voyage of exploration from the cradle. Unable 
to avoid that which is detrimental, and likewise in- 
competent to select only that which would be bene- 
ficial, the impressions of vice are just as deep as are 
the impressions of virtue; hence, it matters not wheth- 
er a child learns evil or good, or both, it is all the 
same so far as the acquiring phase of the proposition is 
concerned. Whether a child learns more of good than 
of evil depends largely upon the degree of care ex- 
ercised by those having in charge the development of 
infant possibilities in furnishing such environments as 
have a tendency to correct fault by judiciously over- 
looking it to the point where true character stands 
out in its strength of nobility and grandeur. Culture 
of faculties and refinement of manners are the means 
by which it is to be determined whether an individ- 
ual has been properly taught, these accomplishments 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 55 

containing and being the value limit of intellectual 
gold, whether it be cast into moral ornament or coined 
into the denominated specie of mental exchange. 
Under the kindergarten plan of instruction it is in- 
tended that the young mind shall broaden and deepen 
to a possession of fact by coming in contact with the 
things of nature in such ways as evolve mental power 
and physical growth through association with ma- 
terial objects, rather than to involve cultivation from 
speculative theories. Thus the child gradually comes 
into harmony with its surroundings in degree com- 
mensurate to its natural growth. In other words, the 
child learns to know things by their right names and 
acquires something of a knowledge of their nature 
by being made familiar with them at a time in life 
when impressions need to be simple, though none the 
less accurate and trustworthy. I believe the most 
difficult task of th ^ average teacher does not arise 
so much from the introduction of new rules and new 
methods, as from the necessity of continually abro- 
gating false impressions and casting out error, which 
in most cases are not due to ignorance of right, but 
rather to misapplication of the law by which truth is 
made apparent. The simplest law of mathematics 
says, "Know the truth and it shall make you free." 

Simple statement, isn't it? "Yes," you say, "but ." 

But whftt? Ah, the mastery of that difficult science is 
the only legitimate means by which the student can 
really know that the law is simple. While wandering 
through the wilderness of error the very simplicity 
of that law becomes almost an unsurmountable com- 
plication. Only after the light has been reached can 
the aimlessness of previous endeavors be seen. What- 
ever is true regarding the law of mathematics is true 
of almost anything else which qualifies the mind. The 
old idea of chocking an infant's mind full of rules and 
precepts has very properly given way to the more 
rational method of storing child mind with a knowl- 
edge and fullness of itself, so to speak — that is, asso- 



56 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

dating it with those things most natural and attractive 
to it — until such time as truth shall require fixed and 
specified limits. The intellect thus systematically ex- 
panding to a possession of the truth, the child must 
as a natural consequence adopt, without aversion, the 
common systems of metal evolution as the only right 
thing to do. Under this proposition it is obvious that 
so soon as a pupil is fitted to move under the disci- 
pline of rigid rule, the rule ceases to be a rule, and 
all seeming inflexibility of the discipline vanishes into 
the purer atmosphere of simple pleasure in a perfect 
knowledge of the truth. 

To my mind the quickest and most certain method 
of confounding a child's integrity and honor, and con- 
fronting it with a menace to the foundation of its true 
character, is for parents to destroy its confidence in 
their truth and veracity. To every child father's opin- 
ion should be supreme; mother's opinion should be 
supreme; — both a royal tribunal from whose decision 
no appeal could be taken; and there should never 
arise in that child's presence a discussion of, nor even 
a comment upon the judgment of either, except in so 
far, at such times and on such occasions as compli- 
mentary notice of the same will tend to furnish the 
child with a higher appreciation and a purer concep- 
tion of the imperial virtue of that supremacy. It not 
infrequently occurs that the measure of an individual's 
moral experience is fixed in the adverse by the author- 
ity and good judgment of one parent being questioned 
by the other. The young mind and heart may not be 
able to reason from cause to efifect at the time, but its 
little intellect will garner the impressions of this 
stultifying influence of fidelity precipitated until such 
time as it can collect the facts and upon them render 
judgment for itself; and then, perhaps, the seed you 
have thoughtlessly sown, parents, will burst forth in 
the vigor of bud and blossom only to yield to you, 
eventually, a bountiful harvest of shame and remorse. 
Too much stress cannot be laid upon the responsibility 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 57 

of those intrusted with the rearing of children. How 
well husband and wife ought to be prepared by adapta- 
tion to each other and to the great work of culturing 
the tender flowers of humanity consigned to their 
care! How carefully ought the plans to be laid for 
that child's future just so soon as it becomes an ap- 
parent incumbency. I believe did candidates for the 
exalted position of fatherhood and motherhood give 
more attention to the framing and maintenance of a 
proper constitutional government for the people of 
their household, the population of that little republic 
would in most cases be free from the slavish bondage 
of mistrust. To be instrumental in the existence of a 
human being, and then abandon that being to the pol- 
luting suspicions of a sin-burdened world, is a crime 
against heaven — an insult to God, that the atoning 
blood of Christ and the agonies of the Cross may not 
blot out. Time, that silent, though unerring developer" 
of hidden forces, shall furnish the revelation. The oc- 
casion when that indifferent mother called father's 
justice and. judgment into question, she set in her off- 
spring's little heart a cancerous root of unbelief that 
must forever be a thorn of doubt pricking through its 
side of honor and integrity as a man or woman — a 
jagging briar goading it on to desperation. Perhaps 
no sadder fate, no greater calamity can come into a 
young child's life than to blast its confidence in the 
things which and those whom it loves. It is just as 
natural for a child to love one parent as the other, and 
for either to attack any principle of virtue in the 
other is to scatter combustible fragments by which 
that same child will, by the light of common sense and 
reason, kindle a fire of indignation so hot as to burn 
out root and branch, the faith it has in both. Never 
tamper with childhood attachments, if you would en- 
dow your children with the rich garniture of truth 
and clothe them in the purest garment of real man- 
hood and true womanhood. The days of youth are 
critical. They make up the sum total of life's spring- 



58 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

time, in which every bud and leaf and stem begins 
to exercise forces perceptible, in the way of thoughts, 
words and acts which have very much to do with 
the fashioning" of each individual plant as touching 
its moral strength, spiritual prolixity and physical 
beauty during the summertime of manhood and wo- 
manhood. It is at this season of change from child- 
hood's budding and leafing to maturity's full-blown 
blossom that I would have only refreshing dews of 
toleration and sympathy, and gentle showers of en- 
couragement and proper instruction fall from the 
heavens of mortal love to nourish these human pos- 
sibilities to hardiness and vigor, the fruits of whose 
hands must be gathered in Time's Autumn for the 
Winter of Eternity. No biting frosts of neglect 
should blight, no chilling winds of indifference should 
wither, no cutting blizzards of contempt should freeze 
out the vitality of these tender plants — young men 
and young women — in their efforts to be and to do 
the best, but rather, let them be potted, so to speak, 
in the greenhouse of infiJiite wisdom where the tropi- 
cal sunlight of right thinking can develop and bring- 
out every shade of right speaking and right doing 
possible. Thus only can they become full-grown, 
deep-colored and fruitful in the highest sense of na- 
tural perfection. I have long been favorable to the 
opinion that each child's early associations should be 
closely with those who enjoy the hope of saving faith. 
Children are not apt to practice in after life things 
strangely different from what are learned in childhood. 
It therefore ought not to be expected that they will 
accomplish or seek after that which the parents and 
the church people fail to set a value upon. The. adverse 
influence of parents does more sometimes to 
unravel and annul the instructions of true teachers. 
than any other system of forces brought to bear upon 
the future manhood and womanhood of our race. 
This, of course, is not true in all cases, but the 
rule is far from being the exception. When Napoleon 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 59 

sought to climb the Alps with his army, a courier 
was asked if an army could ascend those rugged and 
dangerous heights. The courier replied: "It might 
be done." "Then," said the monarch of battles, 
"It shall be." The history of that famous march 
shows that it was done. If the parents of our country 
would say, 'Tt shall be," and support the declara- 
tion by that indomitable courage and unswerving 
tenacity to a purpose, which won victory after vic- 
tory for Napoleon, the glorious age to which hope 
looks, when all kindreds, tongues and tribes of the 
earth shall be bound by one law — that law the law 
of universal brotherhood — would not be long in dawn- 
mg as an actual reality. Give the children proper 
mental development, and their morals will take care 
of themselves. 



CHAPTER FOURTH. 

SOCIETY.— The Three Grades of Elite: Giddy 
Whirlpool of Polished Sin; Man Born With Social 
Nature; But Two Kinds of Social Relationship: Sor- 
row in the Wake of Fashionable Revelry; Reality of 
Things] The Banquet and Ball; Picture from Life; 
Customs of Society an Exacting Law; Newspaper 
Men a Necessary Adjunct; Radical Reform Unpar- 
donable: Average Society Lady's Vanity; Butterflies 
of Fashion. 

The world has at least three distinct grades of what 
is nicely called Elite Society. These distinctive grades 
are classified in adverse ratio as best, better, good. 
Wealth, influence and position are the all-important 
and controling factors in determining the particular 
class to which an individual belongs. To belong to 
either grade and to be thoroughly in the swim and 
float with the current of social popularity, it some- 



6o BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACJSE. 

times becomes necessary to sacrifice whatever convic- 
tions the individual may have as to real virtue. To 
be in the giddy whirlpool of elite society, is to revel 
heedlessly in a sort of polished sin. It is true man 
is born with a social nature of some sort, and to take 
that nature away from him would be to rob him of 
all that is dear and all that is worth living for. There 
is but one grade of society, in reality, that is worthy 
of honorable men and women; there is but one grade 
of society worthy of efifort in becoming members of; 
that is that which makes men and women better, 
and that lifts the standard of morality and virtue to 
higher perfection and utility. There are, in the ulti- 
mate, but two kinds of social relationship, namely, 
good and bad. Each of us is attached to one or the 
other. We cannot belong to both. Elite society's 
realm is but the picture gallery of false modesty, arti- 
ficial beauty and baseless ethics. Give me intellectual 
and social intercourse with men who can think — men 
who have found the force of peaceful enjoyment in 
the reality of things; let me bow before women whose 
footprints are deep in the sands of virtue, and the 
world can have its vaudeville and its sham. It occurs 
that misery and sorrow follow society's revelry. I 
have set at the banquet table; I have mixed with 
those around the festal board; I have seen simple 
beauty and rustic health 'intermixing with such sym- 
metry and grace as to be charming; I have listened 
to enrapturing music as it rose with voluptuous swell 
and floated away in inspiring reverberations; I have 
seen the fairest of accomplished musicians sweep the 
polished keys of the piano, with impassioned, almost 
inspired fingers, in response to which silvery tones 
pealed forth in melody and stole away in rippling 
murmurings of broken loveliness. But alas, their 
sonorous sweetness echoed back only sadness and 
loneliness to the heart of she who so admirably per- 
formed. By her taste and skill she delighted those 
about her, but the pain pictured in her countenance 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 6i 

told only too plainly that her soul was not in the 
work and that she was not at home. To be a butter- 
fly of fashion and a belle of that glittering assump- 
tion called Elite Society was. to her, imprisonment 
of the most miserable sort, while to have roamed in 
the fields and among the flowers, and to have mingled 
her voice with the voices of nature's songsters would 
have been a paradise of supremest happiness. Though 
enabled to enthrall others, her heart was silently but 
surely breaking because of the emptiness about her. 

The customs of society at times are troublesome. 
They become so partly because their requirements 
are in a sense one-sided, and partly because they are 
misunderstood. This condition of affairs owes its ex- 
istence to a fashionable extreme, which having run 
the gauntlet of its usefulness, long since sought the 
protection of enemies rather than the support of 
friends. 

Among other things men are stoutly protesting the 
right of newspapers to comment in detail on cos- 
tumes and jewelry worn by ladies on social events. 
It is argued that a man would be filled with horror if 
on scanning the pages of the morning paper, he were 
to find his attire tout ensemble described in detail. 
This of course would depend somewhat on the man, 
although it must be admitted that the custom in ques.- 
tion, even though it be established, is in many ' in- 
stances decidedly unpleasant. Especially is it so when 
some peevish and petted belle of society reeks ven- 
geance on the head of a poor guileless editor, for hav- 
ing committed the extraordinary crime of denying 
valuable space in a complimentary write-up of her 
achievements in the fashionable world. Through 
habit, the practice of making the fads and fancies of 
a few members of the human race conspicuous prop- 
erty, gratuitous, has become law — a law as fixed in its 
immutableness as the existing spirit of resentment in 
the disposition of daneuses who fail to excite favor- 
able and coveted comments from the press. The 



62 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

newspaper man who gets a delicate perfumed "prefer- 
ence" invitation, and does his part indifferently will 
soon find himself occupying the unenviable position of 
a forgotten hero and reputed only as a sort of block- 
head or nondescript. 

The ordinary reporter is seldom, if ever, invitea to 
a party, soiree or ball, because of his unmatchable 
popularity, but rather that he may have opportunity 
in writing spicy compliments; in many cases about 
people, who being pufifed by the gas of their own 
egotism, disdain even a nod of recognition. He is 
supposed to oscillate his feelings out of mind and 
courteously accede to the wishes of the world social, 
and blandly close his eyes and ears to all about him, 
save that which is presumably most charming and 
beautiful — captivating manhood and her environ- 
ments. As exacting as it may seern to need to obey 
the mandates of such a law, a radical reform oi? that 
line would not be unlike trying to banish the tradi- 
tions of mythology or straining an unpardonable 
point on the original Four Hundred, so firmly is it 
fixed as an active principle in the minds of society 
people everywhere. 

The average society lady's modesty is not at all 
dashed by seeing her name attached to a complete 
description of her attire, jewelry and general appear- 
ance at the last grand ball or reception; but it rather 
adds satisfaction to vanity. The thorough butterfly 
of fashion does not permit her cheeks to crimson with 
sensations of false modesty, when her eyes behold the 
flattering mention she sought so hard to gain. 

Men seek the praise of women; women strive to 
please men; neither try to merit the good opinion of 
members of their own sex, and, if woman deems it 
essential for struggling ink-slingers to write up her 
wearing apparel, art de la mode, why — why they must; 
and that settles it. 

Life as mankind observes it seems to be an inex- 
plicable admixture of the unknown quantity. Human 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 63 

short-sightedness is apt to overlook the truest and 
most essential elements of social success and moral 
happiness. Mortals soon forget that earthly things 
are transitory, and at best but symbols of that higher 
and better experience called perfection. 

The people of the world, tout ensemble, are suffer- 
ing the pangs of bitterness and remorse. Most of 
them at one time or another have tasted the cup of 
heart-refining and soul-trying experience even to the 
depth of its gallish dregs. Regrets come to many in 
rapid succession, as though the cloud of adversity 
hung thick and heavy above and around, ready to 
drench them in an avalanche of casualties at any 
moment. The sky of existence, which, to human per- 
ception, might be blue and tranquil in the joys and 
hopes of earth, is overhung with the draperies of 
quick-coming obscurity curtained by the gloomy 
shroudings of mourning. This condition is but the 
effect of a certain cause, a full understanding of which 
•would render its apparent results less stultifying and 
objectionable, in that the birth of it is directly trace- 
able to ignorance and superstition on one side and 
lecherous contention for political power and per- 
sonal aggrandizement on the other. These two forces 
so formidable to each other can never exist in har- 
mony together. One or the other, or all of them, 
must be abrogated from the credenda of mortal ac- 
quirements before the sunshine of peace and love and 
happiness can penetrate the thickening veil with dis- 
pensations of comfort and prosperity. 

Amid the turmoil and unsuitableness of our envir- 
onments forgetfulness becomes such a weakness as 
to render it a habitual ailment. Infinite wisdom has 
decreed that when a certain period of years has been 
reached time can be no more. Often people are sordid 
and unhappy because of that selfishness within them, 
which denies the pleasure of thankful appreciation for 
the beautiful in nature. It is strong evidence of con- 
tentment when an individual rejoices on account of 



64 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

the many blessings coming to him in the way of 
health, position and influence. It is a healthful sign of 
progress 'when those blessings are made the means 
by which wholesome comfort is brought to others. 
In short, thrice blessed Js the man who realizes that 
he is blessed. One of the first laws of human ex- 
istence is that finite immutableness by which we may 
recognize beauty in nature when we see it. It would 
seem to be an impossibility that men could live in this 
land of sunshine and flowers, where the cheering song 
of birds is twittered from every tree and fragrance, 
deep-scented, ladens every breeze with its balmy 
sweetness, and be totally oblivious of all these nat- 
ural conditions of happiness. Yet many there are 
who become insensible to the very things which mean 
most (in the aga;reyate of contentment and well-being. 
Men represent in a greater or less degree the force 
of cause and effect. The numerous habits which one 
is apt to acquire have very much to do with making 
natural surroundings unpleasant. Many men and 
■women whose prospects in childhood were as bril- 
liant as the changing colors at sunset, now exhibit 
the gloomy consciousness of blighted hope and the 
sorrowful result of not improving the golden opj^or- 
tunities of life as they come. The depraving influ- 
ence of vice has never been able to lift a fallen vic- 
tim from the gutter, or endow him or her with the 
emoluments of virtue. Under its effects the sensi- 
bilities become deadened and the intellect weakens 
before the wholesome impressions of refinement. 
Upon the carefulness with which the faculties within 
us are cultivated to an appreciation of the things 
without us, and their proper relation to us', will de- 
pend the degree of happiness which we enjoy. To 
violate the laws of nature in this respect is criminal 
and only invites a positive stunt to manly develop- 
ment, and is in every sense abortive to the highest 
ideas of human happiness. Men and women do not 
become mean, low and degraded in a day or a year, 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 65 

but as a rule, go step by step down the broad path- 
way that descends to ruin. Perhaps the helpless ine- 
briate before us with his periodical blasphemy and 
drunken stupor is but the hopeless wreck of him who 
was once a happy, careless boy, whose plump, rosy 
cheeks where tinged with the crimson flush of life's 
brighest morning, while with eyes sparkling in the 
ruddy glow of health he chased the gaudy butterfly 
the livelong day. Content 'with bare feet, scant attire 
and unkempt hair, he joyously explored the realms 
of nature in field and bower, and gloried in the ma- 
jestic splendor of the universe. How little was he 
disturbed by thoughts of danger lurking in the lati- 
tude where the pleasures of youth abode. But the 
soothing influence of a mother's nurturing love, the 
fostering care of a proud father, the adorations of 
an affectionate sister, and the counsel of admiring 
friends, thrown aside and disregarded, opened up to 
him an avenue of temptation larger than the strength 
of his moral nature could combat. Thus in the pur- 
suit of imaginary freedom he brought on his own 
ruin, until with friends, hope and manhood all gone 
he was seen heedlessly plunging into the relentless 
stream of dissipation and more swiftly each time the 
current of depravity carried him on toward the rocks 
of destruction. At first, perhaps, indulgences are in 
a sense moderate and seemingly harmless, but as time 
rolls on and slavish habits become fixed, men and 
women gather about the altars of vice in a manner 
not unlike honey-making bees around the Judas-tree. 
Lured by the beauty and fragrance of blooming rich- 
ness, they sip of the nectared sweetness until inocu- 
lated with its poison they drop helpless at its trunk. 
Among the fashionable means for going to extremes 
is that pandemonium of popular vice, the ballroom. 
Here is usually to be found a brilliant display of art 
and genius. Fair women and gallent men assemble 
at theaters of uncertain action. Splendorous in ap- 
pointment and illumined by the golden light of a 



66 BENNIE, TH^ PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

thousand tapering jets, rich garnitures of luxuriant 
drapery and blooming flowers lend beauty to the lovely 
and the brave, who join hands to chase the passing 
hours with flying feet. Merry music rises in harmony 
with the gems sparkling and gleaming from throats 
of alabaster and floats away in volumes of entrancing 
melody; separating, as it weie, all semblances of care 
from the atmosphere of gaiety, mutual bliss reigns 
supreme as swiftly the hours roll on. A ruddy glow 
radiates each cheek while pretty maids with dainty 
feet trip the fantastic toe and terpsichorean joys spring 
from fascinations of the time. Infinitely alluring 
seems the mazy waltz, as mfatuated couples glide like 
fairies over the polished floor, until lost amid the 
mysterious contrivances of a fond embrace. This pic- 
ture is all very nice till one begins to inquire what is 
going on behind the scenes, then it has a different 
appearance altogether. 

On a recent visit to the metropolis of the great 
west, where opportunity ror observing the customs 
and habits of society folk could be obtained, I noted 
that a very great amount of suffering and disease is 
due to "Drug Drunkenness of Females." The female 
drug drunkard is directly the output of so-called civili- 
zation, prolific, flourishing and evidently come to stay. 
The best position for gathering information resulted 
from taking a seat in one of the popular theater 
buildings. Here congregated the beautiful, the proud, 
the wealthy from all over the city, attired in costumes 
befitting the occasion — and many of them slaves — 
Morphine, did you ask? Yes, but this is but one of a 
dozen drugs that has in it intoxication, disease and 
death. It doesn't require a physician to detect the 
unfailing symptoms of a drug drunkard. There are 
hundreds of women who go about the city half 
"jagged" on Dovers powders. They will have their 
powders and in a few years they are dead. Ether is 
a late fad with the fashionable drunkard. It is taken 
in very small quantities, two thimblefuls being an 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 67 

average drink, but a swell toper can take ten or twelve 
drinks and attend a reception in the evening. It is 
said of a wealthy society lady that she consumes a 
half-pint of ether a day. By nightfall she has reached 
the glorious stage of smiling, floating, dreamy sen- 
suousness. Men call her languor Oriental, and won- 
der that she can never be induced to empty her wine- 
glass or move away from her silken cushions, where 
she. remains to all blandishments a lovely sphinx. 
Then comes the antipyrene fiend, chloral and cocaine 
victims, paregoric "guzzlers," tea dissipators and per- 
fume drinkers. Perfume drunkards, it is said, are 
quite as numerous as devotees of the poppy seed. Of 
this last polite habit Kate Carter, of New York, 
says: "If you are observant, you will see any lady 
take her little 'nip' any afternoon at a matinee, or 
concert, or lecture. She opens her reticule, or, if 
too up-to-date for a bag, you will notice her frequent 
recurrence to the great pocket of her sealskin. From 
this she takes what you suppose to be a sugar plum 
or a cough lozenge. If you look closely you will 
find that it is a square of white sugar. Don't turn 
your head away, for you will find something to interest 
you. My lady is about to take a perfume 'ball' right 
here in the presence of the audience and amid the 
glare of the incandescent lights. Another dive into 
the pocket and she brings forth a handsome, finely- 
cut crystal smelling bottle. You are interested now; 
she does not raise this to her nostrils, but drops some 
of its contents on that square of sugar, and before you 
can say 'Jack Robinson' has popped it into her mouth, 
downed it like a Kentucky thoroughbred. It's an 
agreeable dose, sugar and violet water: — five or six 
lumps will distort the vision and cause the female feet 
to wander. This perfume drunkard always carries 
her bar about with her, and usually goes home in a 
carriage." And still the list increases to bromide of 
potassium, bromide of ammonia, bromide of lithium, 
with a companion-mate to ether, phenacetine. In the 



68 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

face of all this is it any wonder that the race is groan- 
ing under its burden of intemperance and wickedness 
in high places? Society, especially thai glittering as 
sumption called elite society, finds a few mortals of 
earth upon which to bestow distinction of some sort. 
In New York City there are six married ladies to 
whom fashion has bowed in the superlative degree. It 
is a matter of pride to be distinguished for something. 
Cholly Knickerbocker in the New York Journal 
writes: "Mrs. S. Van Rensselaer Cruger is the most 
decollete woman at the opera. I can't say that Mrs. 
Cruger is the least dressed woman at the opera, for 
Mrs. Cruger is most dressed when she is most decol- 
lete, and she is always most decollete at the opera. 
A beautiful neck is one of the rarest gifts of nature, 
and the woman who does not admire Mrs. Cruger's 
style of dress or who would cavil at the height of her 
bodice is simply purblind with envy. Mrs. Cruger is 
not only the most decollete woman at the opera, but 
the most attractive as well. 

"Mrs. C. Albert Stevens is the most beautiful woman 
at the opera. She is a fair type of American beauty. 
Her even-featured face, her expressive eyes, her tall 
and slender figure, her graceful bearing, and that last- 
ing quality of good looks that has withstood the wear 
and tear of a dozen years in the social whirl, maid and 
matron, combine to win universal admiration, no mat- 
ter how much we may dispute about the use of the 
superlative in her case. 

"Mrs. Ogden Mills is the most exclusive woman at 
the opera. In her own estimation, at least, Mrs. Mills 
is the Macgregor of society — where she sits is the head 
of the table. If society were a four-in-hand coach Mrs. 
Mills "would insist on tooling the vehicle with nobody 
in the box seat. 

"Mrs. James Lorillard Kernochan is the finest all- 
around sportswoman at the opera. When Mrs. Ker- 
nochan rides to hounds, the very birds in the air 
hover on poised wing in envy of her grace, while the 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 69 

boldest horseman of all the hunt finds it to the limit 
of his skill to keep the pace she sets. 

"Mrs. Henry Sloane is the best-gowned woman at 
the opera. I tremble as I make the assertion, for I 
know at least fifty women who will dispute the truth 
of the statement af once, with the firm conviction that 
each of them is better gowned than Mrs. Sloane. 

"Mrs. John Jacob Astor is the most aristocratic 
woman at the opera. Judgment here is based more 
upon genealogy than the assumption of any Vere de 
Vere airs by Mrs. Astor, although her good looks and 
her wealth would have turned many a less sensible 
head than hers." 

Yet, not one of them is worthy the honor of being 
the mother of a Washington or a Lincoln. No, there 
is nothing desirable in that glittering assumption called 
Elite society. 



CHAPTER FIFTH. 



Every man has religion and every man puts into 
practice throughout his daily life his religion. Not 
every man, however, has in his possession, Chris- 
tianity. Religion is the efifort of man to restore him- 
self from moral destruction; Christianity is the effort 
of God to restore him from sin and degradation. 
Religion is a code of discipline; Christianity is a sys- 
tem of regeneration. Carlyle fittingly remarks, "It 
is well said, in every sense, that a man's religion is 
the chief fact with regard to him." The highest pur- 
poses of religion is the revelation of truth — the funda- 
mental doctrine of Christianity. In a way I regard 
truth as the correct history of fact. The knowledge 
of a fact about which truth has given an accurate 
account brings freedom from mental bondage. Truth 
is not fact, fact is not truth; fidelity is neither; but, 



each is radically and unalterably a part of the other. 
The existence of fact does not always imply truth; 
the existence of truth and fact does not necessarily 
imply fidelity, but the existence of truth must of ne- 
cessity imply fact. Fact is the action; truth is the 
accurate record of that action; and, fidelity, the con- 
forming result of fact and the accurate record of it. 
Logical and moral truth are inseparable. To have one 
you must have the other. Each is component of the 
other; neither can stand alone. To illustrate: — I 
pass along a certain street and see a man painting 
the palings of a fence in three colors. I say to the 
first person met that Mr. So and So is painting his 
fence red, white and blue. The person spoken to 
passes that way and finds, as I had said, the man 
painting the fence — that is the fact, the action; each 
alternate paling respectively, red, white and blue — 
that is the truth, the correct account; when dry the 
paint shows the same colors — that is fidelity, con- 
formity of subsequent conditions to the fact of which 
truth made a correct statement. Reverse the condi- 
tions at any point and the result is apparent. I don't 
care to talk about the fault in anyone. By constantly 
recalling the faults of others we become faulty our- 
selves. The most pleasure comes from ignoring the 
fault and admirmg the virtue, except, of course, where 
the growth of fault intercepts the growth of virtue. 
Then charity has the right to act; not that charity 
which consists in almsgiving, but that charity which 
covers the faults of another, yet tends to their cor- 
rection. It seems to be humanity's inherent weakness 
to be forever flaunting the shortcomings of people, 
but the Humble Man of Gallilee would teach us to 
reason of the good and forget the bad within us. If 
we expect to find a person who is faultless, on earth, 
our expectation is in vain; hence, from that stand- 
point alone, one person has no moral right to find 
fault in another. Scripture advises that we "confess 
our faults to one another," but nowhere is authority 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 71 

given for finding fault of another; for, how can I 
pick the "mote" from my neighbor's eye when I 
have a "beam" in my own? No man was ever re- 
deemed from the error of his ways by pointing out 
the error only, but rather by glorifying the beauties 
of right. He who sees the right must admire the 
right, and by thinking of good rather than of evil, 
unconsciously does the right because he knows noth- 
ing else to do. 

• The two principal recognized constituents of the 
imiverse are matter and energy. Matter is anything 
that occupies space; energy is that hidden, intan- 
gible force, which when united with matter brings 
about whatever form it may have. The correctness 
of this pertient theory in physics is truthfully shown 
by a block of coal being brought in contact with two 
other forces equally powerful as to space and action. 
There it is, an unshapely mass of seemingly lifeless 
substance; tersely termed the imprisoned sunlight of 
a thousand summer mornings. Cast it into the fur- 
nace, and what happens? Ah, just so soon as the 
energy in the coal rises to the zenith of that in the 
fire it bursts forth in the glory of a golden morn- 
ing, and the silent captives thus set at liberty, uniting 
with other forces return to the power of light and 
heat and the material returns to the earth from 
which it came. Man is as distinct from the universe 
as God is distinct from the universe, and His crown- 
ing creation, man. Matter and energy constitute 
them both. Both universe and man are dependent 
upon processes peculiar to themselves for develop- 
ment. Observation teaches that all things material 
are constantly undergoing changes; that is, are fol- 
lowing the mutations of a fixed order of things called 
nature. While the animal, vegetable and mineral king- 
doms are governed by similar laws of assimilation 
and transformation, yet man, as an animal, must be 
treated as a distinctive organization. He differs from 
the lower animals in that whatever knowledge the 



72 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

lower animals seem to possess is instinctive, while 
that of the human is intuitive and constructive. This 
fact is amply shown in the truth that a horse, for in- 
stance, may work in harness for a period of ten or 
fifteen years, and at the end of that time, will not 
know any more about plowing or performing the vari- 
ous kinds of service for which the horse is useful 
than at the beginning, except insofar as familiarity 
with certain surrounding and regular routine may 
bring it into action. The animal has but one knowfi 
faculty — instinct — while man is a creature of many 
faculties. However, according to the philosophy of 
Epictetus, of all the given faculties, hidden powers, 
with which the human being is invested, but one of 
them is capable of contemplating itself and knowing 
all the rest — that is the rational faculty — the will 
power, the mind. Upon this ONE faculty rests, then, 
the theorem from which is deduced the divinity of 
man. Simply speaking, the soul, the spirituality in 
man is practically all there is about him that enables 
him to I ;ason, to think, to will — that makes him m- 
telligent Is there a human being so devoid of un- 
derstand iiig as not to be amazed at the unexampled 
magnitu ;e of nature's treasure-house of values? Does 
that man or woman exist, who is satisfied to think 
all the mighty demonstrations of power and mystery 
in creation so lavishly thrown in our way are but 
things of chance? Unfathomable, profound mystery 
surrounds us on all sides; evidences of divinity in 
magic glow shape the course of our faltering foot- 
steps, but the greatest and most impenetrable mystery 
of all is man himself. Changeable as the moon, ^nd 
uncertain as the winds that blow from the four cor- 
ners of the earth, he hardly gets fixed in a position 
or an opinion, till he becomes unfixed and susceptible 
to change. Yet some there be who seem ready to 
presume that man is soulless, Godless, salvationless, 
and without destiny; except in next to the latter 
case, as his good acts may redeem him through the 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 73 

sanction of his own conscience and the approval of 
his fellowmen. If man has no soul; if there is no 
God; if no Savior ever paid the ransom for his trans- 
gression; if when he dies, he is no different than a 
dog, cat, horse or an ox, without destination or a 
future, what virtue can there be in the argument that 
he ought to live strictly in accordance with a fixed 
code of moral laws and do homage to a rigid disci- 
pline just for the mere satisfaction of having con- 
science and his fellows approve of it? If man has 
no soul he can have no conscience; if he have no 
conscience, he cannot discriminate between right and 
wrong, and stands before the world a mental pauper 
shorn of all the sublime elements that go to qualify 
his competency to determine truth and error; if he does 
not know right from wrong and is morally incapable 
of distinguishing truth from error, then he is in no- 
wise better than the beasts of the field and there is 
naught to elevate him above the level of an animal. 
Without sfiul and conscience it is impossible to be 
intelligent; therefore, from the standpoint of reason 
itself, the whole theory of infidelity and atheism is 
proven to be a fallacy — an absurd aggregation of non- 
sensical sophistry. 

"What matters it what faith or creed my brother 
holds 

If it to him through thought and deed the truth un- 
folds? 

What matters it what name he bears if on life's way 
of pain and cares 

He bears "the sign?" For his own soul must learn 
the right 

And his own eyes must see the, not mine or thine. 

The same sun shines on all men's ways and chooses 
none. 

How should I think he sheds his rays on mine alone? 

The life eternal dwells in all the germ of power how 
shall I, then, 



74 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Pronounce his doom when hi my brother's may bloom 
the 'holy flower?' " 

The thrill of happiness, the buoyancy of hope, and 
the spirit of contentment, pass into dissimulative dis- 
sidence when splendorous day lowers in royal robes 
dimissory till curtained behind the sable garments 
of night naught but gathering gloom appears. Hushed 
to silence, nature breathes the quiet of a sabian god. 
With no star to guide, no glowing moon to cast its 
mellow light across the pathless space of heaven's 
ebon vault, insidious inspissation blights the sheen 
of inspiration's golden morn. So it ever is in human 
life. The fruitful thoughts and the pleasant memo- 
ries of a half-forgotten past mingle in painful recol- 
lection when the sunlight of earthly experience van- 
ishes into the shadowless gloom of that black night 
called "death." The diluent forces of nature yield 
to the salient cunning of that noiseless reaper, who 
with sickle keen is stalking boldly abroad. The 
brightest anticipations of the soul, the deepest 
thoughts of mind, and the warmest impulses of the 
heart glide into saturnine evanescence, when the 
grim monster thrusts aside friend and foe and like 
a chilling wave from mountains capped with snow 
pushes his way into the home, and removes, un- 
warned, the very member we seem least prepared to 
spare. Thus against human wishes is the carcanet 
of afftliation broken; thus the current of militant ac- 
tivity is suddenly stopped in the uncertain course 
of its progress and enjoyments. Bitter, indeed, is the 
flood that flows from the fountain of tears, when the 
last fleeting breath liberates a human soul from its 
prison-house of clay. Oft is heard a heart-piercing 
cry at the flickering of a life-light into eternity. 
How sadly we note the demise of a loved one. and 
realize with a full consciousness of griefful solemnity 
that the rippling, mirth-provoking laugh will sound 
on our ears no more and that voice of merriment 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 75 

is hushed forever. Is it possible that the power of 
those eyes wont to sparkle in the sunlight of pleas- 
ure is eternally shut in by the narrow limits of the 
tomb? Is it fate that decrees that the winning smile, 
the crimson flush of joy rising unbidden from a ten- 
der and affectionate heart shall be loclfed in the icy 
embrace of death through all eternity? But such is 
life. We know not the hour when we shall be called 
to the exequies of a fellow creature. It may startle 
to awake at the dawn and meet the shadows as they 
steal across the threshold and reveal the conscious- 
ness of mourning and desolation. Yet withal, this 
condition of things should not seem so strange. 
Earth is but the place in which humanity must be 
fitted for something higher and better — a life more 
lasting and sublime. A country in which mortality 
is qualified for citizenship in the Golden City, peopled 
with the ransomed hosts of God. Who has not felt 
impressions of the sublimity of things, when standing 
above the open grave into whose silent depths has 
been lowered the body of one cherished with the fond- 
est hopes of mortal love? Who has not, when bitter 
tears gushed from, depths illy fitted to sustain their 
torrent flow, looked up to heaven for comfort in the 
hour of direst bereavement? Who has ever been able 
to stand with the grief stricken and not feel emotions 
of inner self rising to the surface moistened with the 
mists of common sympathy; or, if from bursting 
eyes no tear could be wrung, has not felt a gentle 
wave of understanding sweeping through the deeper 
current of human affection? Who in the innermost 
recesses of his heart has not desired that every victim 
of disease and death might go to a world of better 
things? What death-bed scene has not inspired the 
thought that another soul has but homeward winged 
its flight? Through all the mutations of life we face 
the truth, that to live is to die. Unkind seems the 
fiat of fate, which relentlessly tears asunder the ten- 
der cords that bind in common fealty the brotherhood 



76 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACJSE. 

of man. But relentless and unyielding as the tendons 
of the law may appear, we fain would cast the effer- 
vescent shadows of brotherly love over the life-his- 
tory of the dead, and in their mantled keeping afifect 
a remembrance of only the good deeds of men after 
they are not. 

We go to the theater and studying the dramatis 
personse note the different impersonations to be made 
by the actors; then, as the interest grows apace, cog- 
nizance is taken of the real character apparent of the 
men acting the various parts in the drama. Some are 
tragic, others are comic, still others are emotionally 
sentimental; these are heightened in their vividness 
by the cunning, conscienceless plotter and his emis- 
sary, the unscrupulous villain. The whole cast must 
be intensified by the victorious conquests of a noble 
hero and beautified by the presence of the plucky 
heroine. What we are; what we expect to be, are 
indications on the dialplate of futurity of what we must 
become if "we would keep pace with the progress of an 
aggressive age and touch the greatest accomplish- 
ments required by present demands. The mind is 
forever active, and that it may lose no opportunity for 
usefulness the individual ought to be active also. Sel- 
dom, if ever, an actor brings out the most that his 
part of the drama will admit of, except the character 
in its fullness be a counterpart of some identical 
principle within himself. That which is often con- 
sidered the climax of high art in the dramatic world 
is simply the acting of the impersonator true to his 
nature. The real actor is never so true an artist as 
when he unconsciously impersonates in its complete- 
ness the innermost of himself. All imitation, then, 
that is not true to the nature of the man falls short 
of its highest degree of perfection, even though it 
gleam and sparkle in the sheen of the artificial; being 
artificial, every defect is clearly apparent to the true 
scholar in natural affairs. Men may be so closely 
imitated as to deceive, but nature supplanted, never! 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 77 

People stop on the street to gaze at a bulletin board; 
of course it is the bulletin they are gazing at. What 
else could it be? Yet that simple catch-attention 
afifair means and signifies vastly more than seems 
apparent in the simple action of stopping and gazing. 
There must have been some reason for stopping, oth- 
erwise the people would not have stopped. This, then, 
is the philosophical theorem from which is deduced 
the proposition that it is only the unusual things that 
attract men's minds and attention. This fact is proven 
by the fact that beside this same bulletin board was a 
fancy sign in variegated coloring, rich in fruitful words 
and appealing sentences; yet, withal, the simple, unas- 
suming, cold-facted bulletin possessed a clearer faculty 
for "fetching" the crowd than gaudy colors or sublime 
sayings. An informal retrospect of the past, even 
though incomplete, would assure any ordinary person 
of the necessity for wisdom in the future. The mis- 
takes others have made and the shortcomings of our- 
selves are connecting links in the great chain of human 
progress which binds all people to a common respon- 
sibility — the caring for and protection of the weak 
and helpless in whatever struggles may come to them. 
Men often commit crimes because of the incontroUable 
desire within them to do something sensational, and 
after getting into the clutches of the law, spring the 
"insanity dodge" on a heretofore over-credulous pub- 
lic as a challenge for its leniency. No man ever com- 
mitted murder with his hands, who did not first per- 
petrate the crime in his heart. Therefore it follows 
without needless tedium in matters of argument that 
if a man is capable of goading himself on to the com- 
mittal of crime, he should be considered responsible 
for it, and susceptible to the penalties of a broken 
law. A judgment granted is not always a judgment 
estimated; in many cases it is but the beginning of a 
system of evolution that eventually unfolds the true 
characters of the judged, and judge, which to say the 
least are in nowise indicated by the initial adventure. 



78 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

I now recall an incident of my own life and experi- 
ence: 

'Twas in the month of beauteous flowers, when roses 
and lilies were in bloom; 
Anna became my radiant blushing bride. — I be- 
came her happy, loving groom. 
Often now in the dark, still hours of night, memory 
steals to that fateful June 
And recalls its many prospects bright, as they were 
our wedding afternoon. 
Love was sov'reign o'er all we thought and did, and 
joy, a shadowless, pleasant dream — 
Floated into four months and a year apace; nor did 
it stop, in life's fitful stream — 
Till one night, when death with wicked glares wrapt 
us in terror and sore affright; 
She called for earnest and ardent prayers, and I saw 
her die, my heart's delight. 
She prest my cheeks to her hot fev.ered brow and 
breathed tenderly into my ears: 
"The Master calls me; I go to him now; I knew 
of this; so dry your tears. 
Weep not for me, I pray you, now no more; I'm go- 
ing where papa and sisters are — 
Where bright angels sing on that golden shore, 
and beckon me through the gates ajar. 
"Sing again a glad song of Jesus' love, that redeems 
from death, sin and the grave; 
Let our voices now sound a Savior's praise, for the 
plan of salvation He gave — 
"Glory to God in the highest," she shouted, while "I 
love Thee my Jesus," we sang — 
Her eyes grew brighter and her heart seemed light- 
er as through the night's stillness the echoes 
rang. 
Excited friends gathered 'round her bed, shocked to 
think it at last must be true 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 79 

That she'd soon be numered with the dead who was 
now so young and strangely fair, 
Alas, for poor humanity's shortened sight, that sees 
not beyond the present tide! 
Her eyes had already closed to earthly light, and 
death had robbed me of my bride. 
To young and old alike she spoke with cheer, tell- 
ing us all how we ought to live: — 
"I spent my life," she said, "In Godly fear, and can 
'front all eternity may give. 
Be true then, and honest before the world, God's 
blessing daily by prayer invoke — 
So that when death's chains shall bind you fast, you'll 
be free from sin's ignoble yoke." 
Thus her life closed like a glow in the west, 'mid 
the triumphs of a living faith; 
Thus her soul's temple went down to its rest, wreathed 
in garlands of virtue and strength 
Hope's bright morning in her countenance shone as 
I gazed on her face cold and wan; 
Her calm features more angelic had grown, as I saw 
them at coming of dawn. 
Heartbrok'n we fold'd her hands on her breast while 
tears of grief from our soul we shed. 
In her wedding robe, her body we dressed and bore 
it to God's City of the Dead. 
Sad and lonely to me have been the hours since 
they buried her my pride and my love; 
Yet "when night's curtain is pinn'd back by the stars" 
her spirit rests 'round me and above. 



CHAPTER SIXTH. 

Politics is one thing, political economy quite an- 
other. A man may be expert as a politician and at 
the same time be plebeian in the science of economics. 



8o BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Politics is a system of gaining position through power; 
economics, the science of obtaining power through 
position. The one is a matter of means, the other a 
matter of men; each is diametrically opposed. To 
say that a leader is a politician is not to say that he 
is also an economist; to class a man as an economist 
does not distinguish him a politician — one is the 
science of comfort, the other the art of scheming. 
Julius Caesar was successful as a shrewd politician, 
but a flat failure as a political economist. He knew 
the value of votes, but was devoid the secret of peace 
and happiness. His dethronement resulted. 

It is not a little surprising in this age of progress 
and universal intelligence to note how some men with 
insatiable cravings for political preferment insist en 
being fondled in the lap of public sentiment and ca- 
ressed by the Goddess of Liberty. The pedantry of 
these would-be monarchs in some communities is lit- 
tle less than intolerable. If tolerated at all, it is bvit 
a forced obeisance which renders homage and not the 
free will of a grateful liberty-loving people. This class 
of individuals is born as other men are born, but lack- 
ing the qualities of the true citizen they seek to climb 
the heights for which no natural endowment exists, 
and after attaining some degree of eminence as com- 
morants persistently imagine that all other men, no 
matter of what caste, character, or profession, are 
under obligations to submit meekly and unquestion- 
ingly to the encroachments of such arrogant auto- 
crats. The true political aristocrat is he who can 
and does appreciate the value and dignity of every 
other real man or woman. He has the key for solv- 
ing the aesthetic problem of having all things in com- 
mon. The true ruler of a people will as naturally 
drop into line and find his place among them as water 
finds its Ipvel. Where the place seeks the man posi- 
tion and leadership bestow themselves properly upon 
the right. Men defend a thing as true only when they 
themselves doubt. The truth needs no defense. It is 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 8i 

able to sustain itself at all times and under all cir- 
cumstances. Strike it down and it will rise again; 
bury it beneath a mountain of opposition and it will 
escape as certainly as sunlight scatters darkness; con- 
fine it in the darkest caverns of the Deep and it will 
ride the rolling billows as grandly as the proudest 
ship; burn its face with calumny and it will triumph 
as majestically as the spirit of Him who gave it; pol- 
lute its robes with falsehood, it will free itself as se- 
renely as the dove of peace carries a message of good 
will to men; try as you will, resort to whatever meas- 
ures you will, truth will outlive every foe and over- 
come every obstacle. Therefore, it in nowise matlers 
■whether men become leaders or followers, in the true 
sense, they must approach such position through qual- 
ifications naturally belonging to them. The right to 
reject any and all aspirations of men for political 
control fittingly obtains as a sovereign heritage and 
is the imperial means through which the principles of 
justice and equity are enforced. When the people take 
up and use such properly vested right as the natural 
weapon of defense against despotic infringement, it 
would be as easy to stop the tides of ocean as it would 
be to block the current of popular sentiment. Though 
free to act as citizens of the grandest r^epublic on 
earth, yet many are the pierced American hearts that 
bleed in agony because some human vampire plumed 
and gloating has fixed them as a mark for his spumous 
invectives and unrighteous schemes — a vampire hide- 
ous, whose gluttonous greed craves for him the spoils 
of every conquest, whether noble or ignoble. With 
no consciousness of justice he sets the heel of ty- 
ranny upon the liberties of his fellows and tears piece- 
meal the franchise of the commonweal, and calls it 
putrid; he burns deep in the flank of nationalism the 
insidious brand of oppression and fetters America in 
bondage. Anarchy is his name. 

illustration: Lowell's "behind the curtain." 
Recent investigations by chemists concerning the 



82 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 



modest and withal unobtrusive appearing cigarette 
show that under cover of apparent legitimacy, there 
lingers a deadly asp, as did in the basket of flowers 
presented to Cleopatra, destined to sting the bright- 
est and best of our race with a withering blight. Like 
unto Bonous Upas of the moistless desert, its poison- 
ous fumes inoculate every breeze. Faced with the 
proposition of honest business, unscrupulous manu- 
facturers and dealers thrust upon the market a method 
of drugging that eventually must unfit a large percent- 
age of the human race for meeting its obligations. 
moral and physical, to the world and posterity. Of 
all the habits which are apt to be acquired in this life 
the consumption of opium is among the most deplor- 
able. There are other habits more offensive, perhaps, 
at the time being, but there are none which so thor- 
oughly and stealthily rob a man of all that is manly as 
the habit of indulging in this stultifying, deadly drug. 
Verily the end of the cigarette fiend is horrible and the 
business of the vender is damnable ; yet, withal as abom- 
inable as the whole matter seems, it is no less honor- 
able, morally, than the business of unprincipled 
politicians who set in motion a system of 
politics which degrades a man and challenges his in- 
tegrity. Such is the policy of every citizen who wishes 
to reduce his country to the extreme limit of national 
disintegration, and the effects of the fatal cigarette 
are no more disastrous to the race than is the cor- 
rupting influence of mere partyism destructive to the 
empyreal power of American franchise. Among the 
great questions haunting the courts of political juris- 
prudence beneath the waving folds of the Stars and 
Stripes, today, is the admittance of woman to equal 
suffrage, and as a matter of course has influenced 
champions and incensed opposers. Whatever con- 
clusion may be correct in the premises it may be sa'd 
in defense that the society is not stable, nor can it 
hope to be enduring; which fails to admit as a chain 
thread in the web of its vital fabric the redeeming vir- 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 83 

ttie of woman's influence. She wields the strongest 
forces for good, and since no organization, whether 
secular or religious, is or ever has been independent 
of woman's efifort to be right no good reason exists 
why the world would not be materially benefited by 
extending her field of usefulness. History shows that 
the world has never had a crisis when woman did not 
contribute largely to whatever success came in pass- 
ing it. If her counsel, wisdom and sympathies are 
trustworthy and a desideratum in times of peril, it 
seems as though there could be no valid objection to 
according each daughter of Eve the coveted privilege 
of registering her likes and dislikes in times of peace. 
If any doubt exists as to her competency to act judi- 
ciously and patriotically, it is at least in a measure 
abrogated by the belief that the ballot would certainly 
be as safe in the average woman's keeping as it now 
is in the hands of millions of so-called citizens who 
can claim the right of franchise on no better qualifica- 
tions than that they are male inhabitants of lesral age. 
Morally, woman has a right to vote, being as she is 
a citizen, paying taxes to maintain governmental in- 
stitutions and answering to the requirements of civil 
law. The theory seems pertinent that American politics, 
at least, will not be pure until the American women 
realize an opportunity to make them pure. The island 
of Java is one of the Dutch colonial dependencies called 
the kingdom of Bantam, an independent little king^ 
dom governed and defended by women. The nominal 
sovereign is a man, whose council of state consists 
of three women. All the authorities and officials of 
court and state and the soldiers are women. The men 
are agriculturists and merchants only, and the king — 
as in the case of the ruler of Dahomey — has a cavalry 
body-guard of amazons, beautifully drilled, and armed 
with spears and carbines. So much for at least one 
Holland tributary and so much in support of the 
twentieth century woman in politics. But turn the 
canvas and scan the picture on the opposite side for 



84 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

a little while. "The woman was made for the man, 
but not the man for the woman." The all-wise Creator 
knew what was best when He planned the work of 
men and women, and accordingly furnished each with 
organism suited to the duties of their respective offices 
with regard to each other and the race. Had God 
intended woman to be a creature of conquest, He 
would have organized her with faculties and facilities 
in keeping with that purpose. She was second in 
creation and it seems right that she should be guilt- 
less in the matter of trying to reverse distinctions in 
procreation. To oppose the natural order of things 
is sure to bring trouble, and because of her properly 
inferior organism, woman has advanced but little be- 
yond the line of failure any where except in the 
Home, in society, and in the church. These are her 
fort and she should be satisfied with them. Nations 
reflect their womanhood in the men they have. 
Woman has the first chance at man and if she does 
not make out of him what she wants him to be she 
has nobody to blame but herself. Men, as a rule, are 
very much what their mothers taught them to be. If 
the mothers of our country seek to rear honorable 
men, it is honorable men they will see. This nation 
is not nearly so much in need of women legislators 
as it is in need of WOMEN mothers. Cervantes' 
Don Quixote was no more of a ridiculous commen- 
tary upon the Knight Errantry of Spain, than is this 
much agitated question of woman's suffrage a bur- 
lesque on the manhood of America. What is wanted 
and most needed is lingeried homemakers, not bifur- 
cated lawmakers. If woman will take care of the 
heme, it is consistent to think that the nation will 
take care of itself and her too. What more can she 
ask? If she will attend strictly to her known part 
of the work she will be contented and happy, and no 
cause will exist for criticising or reversing the plans 
of her Creator. Turn, if you please, to the history 
of the Holy Women of Israel; and, again, to the 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 85 

Heroic Women of France— there learn that their 
having won a place in the history of the world's 
achievements is due to their tenderness, sympathy and 
love, rather than to prowess as politicians, diplomats 
or warriors. And again, turn to the touching story 
of Disraeli in announcing the death of Princess Alice 
in Parliament. She had been cautioned by the physi- 
cian not to inhale the breath of her little boy, who 
was ill of diphtheria. The little fellow was toss- 
ing in his bed in the delirium of fever. The princess 
stood by the side of her child and laid her hand upon 
his forehead and caressed him. The touch cooled the 
fevered brain and brought the wandering soul_ back 
from its wild delirium to nestle for a moment in the 
lap of a mother's love. Then throwing his arms 
atound her neck he whispered: "Mamma, kiss me."- 
The instinct of a mother's love is stronger than 
science or statesmanship or royalty, and she pressed 
her lips to those of her child. And yet there is not 
a true woman in all the wide world but would say 
she had not a real mothers' heart had she refused 
to kiss her bairn. So it will be to the end. The 
true mother will kiss her child, the wife her husband, 
and the maiden her lover, though death in a thousand 
shapes is ambushed 'neath the ruby tint of pouting 
lips. The world had its Alexander, Rome its Caesar, 
France its Napoleon, Germany its Bismarck, England 
its Gladstone, Ireland its Parnell, America its Wash- 
ington, its Lincoln and its Blaine, and withal, the 
brilliancy of each of these shining stars in the horo- 
scope of nations is but the glorified scintillations of 
a mother's undying love and watchful care. What 
thoughtful person does not glean the essence of pu- 
rity and power from that beautiful poem by Joaquin 
Miller: 

"The bravest battle that ever was fought, shall I tell 
you where and when? 



86 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

On the maps of the world you will find it not; 'twas 

fought by the mothers of men. 
Nay, not with cannon, or battle shot, with sword or 

nobler pen; 
Nay, not with eloquent words or thought, from mouths 

of wonderful men. 
But deep in a walled-up woman's heart — of woman 

that would not yield, 
But bravely, silently bore her part — lo! there is that 

battlefield. 
No marshaling troop, no bivouac song; no banner to 

gleam and wave; 
But oh! these battles they last so long — from baby- 
hood to the grave. 
Yet, faithfully still as a bridge of stars, she fights in 

her walled up town — 
Fights on and on in the endless wars, then silent, un- 
seen — goes down. 
O, ye with banners and battle shot, and soldiers to 

shout and praise, 
1 tell you the kingliest victories fought, were fought 

in these silent ways. 
O, spotless woman in a world of shame! with splendid 

and .silent scorn, 
Go back to God as white as you came, the kingliest 

warrior born!" 



CHAPTER SEVENTH. 

The relations which every person sustains in life, with 
regard to home, education, society, religion and poli- 
tics, each and all have within them some characteristic 
evidencing the fact that behind all legitimate purpose 
there rests an active principle, which gives to all suc- 
cessful enterprise its primary motive and latent energy. 

Carrying this proposition to its final conclusion, we 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 87 

find that the young man's brightest prospects for suc- 
cess, as the world measures success, lies in the fact 
of his having a business ; a calling or profession ; some 
regular and approved method for bringing to his aid 
and use, a profit above the amount of his investment 
in capital and the employment of native talent and me- 
chanical skill. 

Among the various spheres through which the young 
man or woman may move are the domestic, educational, 
social, religious, political, commercial and fraternal. 

Of these multiplied sources of contact and enter- 
prise, the commercial world is not the least important. 
In fact business operations become the principal en- 
gagement in the minds of both parents and children., 
The promise held out by commercial life, often becomes 
so intense as to swallow up all other considerations. 

How to accumulate money or its equivalent, and a 
lot of it, is the all-absorbing question which confronts 
each indiv dual from the time he or she is competent to 
recognize the size, shape, color and use of a penny, 
until the hoary frosts of age paint the landscape of 
white on brews that have stood till the evening of life^ 

As a rule parents puzzle themselves with the ques- 
tion of "how shall we advantage our sons and daughters, 
so that they shall be able to gain vast amounts of 
wealth, and do it easier than we have been able to do?" 
This object becomes in time the fondest ideal of their 
doting hearts. But is the fondest ideal the highest 
ideal? Without a doubt. But then, is it the noblest, 
most righteous ideal? Possibly not, in many instances. 

Ruskin fitly criticises this practice where he calls at- 
tention to the fact that most parents in seeking out 
a suitable instructor for their children, do not require 
the larger nature of the children to be developed, so 
much as they require that the young minds and hands 
be taught the art and cunning of money-getting. As 
a result, the world today is groaning beneath its burden 
of money-makers, and it cannot be safely said that 
morality and merit have grown commensurate to the 
status of wealth and its systems of manipulation. 



88 BENXIE, THE PYTHIAX OF SYRACUSE. 



When a boy or girl learns to measure merit by the 
standard of dollars and cents, he or she invariably, 
knows the secrets of commercial hypocrisy, and try 
as we will, the delusive subordination of shifting profits 
and losses can never be made to balance or replace 
the absence of intellectual growth. 

It is a part of the work of fraternity to cause a man 
to forsake his avariciousness, by touching and tender- 
ing his heart with the sweeter influence of love, hope 
and charity, without which life itself could be nothingi 
more than a delightful dream. 

Next to and above all the rest in a young man's 
early life is his anticipation for future success. So 
important does the fact of facility become in the ex- 
istence of every person that it can well be said a 
man's profession or business is the thing of vital 
consideration to him. His ability to move independ- 
ently through the world is measured very largely 
by his skill in acquiring by some method that which 
will pass as an equivalent in value to his needs. 
Clothes, food and a competency above actual cxpe.nses 
are the natural incentives to industry. Whether a 
man be cultured or uncultured, it is the labor of his 
hands which contains his permanent capital. To 
some their trade or profession becomes their hobby. 
This should not be. A man's trade or profession 
should at best be no more than a secondary matter — 
the means by which temporal wants are in a popular 
sense supplied. Never make your business the prin- 
cipal theme of conversation. There is, perhaps, 
nothing more despicable to the average mind than 
to hear people always talking about their trade or 
profession. If a man Ts a good workman, his work 
and his employers are the proper sources from which 
a reputation should come. if. as with some, reputation 
is the thing desired. If a man is a bad workman his 
loss of situation and his work are sure to advertise 
him. 

To acquire a fortune seems to be the highest am- 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 89 

bition of most men. A fortune on paper is easy 
enough to contemplate, but when it comes to a real- 
ization of the same it requires hard labor, patience 
and economy. On the line of economy, I am con- 
vinced that it is not what a man earns, but what he 
saves that makes for him a fortune. The average young 
man spends enough money each week, for which he 
receives no substantial good in return, to make him 
independently rich, if kept for a period of years. We 
lose too much time, and time is money. Just calcu- 
late for a moment on the amount of time that people 
lose: "Five minutes per day wasted for ten years 
makes 18,250 minutes or one i month ; ten minutes per 
day wasted for ten years makes more than 600 hours 
or two months; thirty minutes per day wasted for ten 
years makes 1,825 hours or a half year; sixty min- 
utes or one hour per day wasted for ten years makes 
3,620 hours or i year out of every ten. How few 
waste so little as one hour per day. Progress may 
be slow, but how "much could be accomplished, how 
much learned in the moments that are wasted; how 
much self-improvement could every man and woman 
obtain, and how much better and abler could he or she 
become by employing the time that is wasted doing 
nothing or something that is no better than nothing. 
In the course of an ordinary man's life, he absolutely 
wastes more time than would take him throusrh col- 
lege and make him one of the educated men of his 
day and locality." 

Every man should have a vocation, and he should 
choose that vocation for himself. No person should 
attempt to learn a trade or profession without first 
weighing himself in the balance and then for good 
and sufificient reasons select that profession or trade 
in which he finds himself least wanting in natural 
adaptability. I observe my own experience, which is 
but the story of thousands for whom so-called friends 
have tried to select a calling. I appreciate in 1 feel- 
ing sense, the hight of seeming accomplishment. Peo- 



90 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

pie tell me I am endowed with a genius, brilliant and 
v^nviable. Some go so far as to advise me as to a 
Aiture course. Several say I am best suited for the 
profession of law; others say the medical profession; 
still others the stage; while a larger number select 
for me the ministry. However, I have endeavored to 
use my own counsel, in the premises, and have made 
Journalism my choice, believing as I do, that no 
broader field is open in this day and age of the wor'd 
for an ambitious man. No class of men, in my judg- 
ment, have a wider range for the accumulation of 
general information than the Journalists of our time. 
iNo ladder of fame has so few shining stars on the top 
round as Journalism; no mountain of educational fa- 
cility has so broad a plateau of uncultivated, tillable 
lands, rich and fertile in the mental products of the 
19th century as this mountain of Journalism. It isn't 
every "quill pusher" who wears out pencils at an 
editor's desk that is a Journalist. In fact, almost any 
"country parson" or "skule master" can assume the 
role of an editor with "proper dignity" ; but it takes 
BRAINS, and lots of them to make a Journalist. I 
would not imply by the foregoing that I consider 
myself a Journalist, or that I ever expect to reach 
the highest rounds of distinction on that ladder of 
fame, but it is my intention to infer that I believe my- 
self better adapted to newspaper work than to any 
other line of professional life. Although my experi-" 
ence in the world has been considerable and varied; 
though my spare time has been largely given to ex- 
periment and study; and, by these some degree of 
efficiency has been attained in my chosen profession, 
yet after all, I feel more and more each day like 
saying as did the silver-haired sage: "Alas, how little 
do I know! What more have I gained than a term?" 
As I ponder over the words of such thinkers as Epic- 
tetus, Antoninus, Cicero, Plutarch, Bacon, Carlyle, 
Emeison, and others, and contemplate the depth of 
their power and learning the thought comes to me 



. THE MODERN DUALITY. 91 

that I can never be more than a mere atom — a medi- 
ocre in pursuit of a "will-'o-the-wisp. However, Joel 
Chandler Harris offers some consolation where he says: 
"Genius! Bosh! It's hard work, I tell you. While 
^some of you fellows are building castles that crumble 
I'm at a desk — at work. I haven't time to stare the 
fire out of countenance. I'd rather build log cabins 
on earth than loaf around among the stars. And that's 
what I do. I nail myself to a chair and bend to the 
work, and when you see it flowing pretty fast you 
say, 'That's genius !' Go to work, my brother, go to 
work." 

A review of Chapter Six reveals a conservative argu- 
ment on woman's right to a place in politics. Her 
defense there is so strong in her favor that it seems 
inconsistent to ignore her presence and influence in 
business. That she has a right and influence is not 
a matter of conjecture and surely her opportunity for 
competition and the advantage she takes of it proves 
her competency. We love her most, though, in an- 
other sphere than the bustling mart or the dizzy 
whirl of business enterprise; she does not appear at 
her best in commercial operations. Her principal 
fort is in the home and at housekeeping. In this 
avocation she can and does excel, if she studies her 
business. Observation has shown me that there are a 
great many housekeepers who know comparatively 
nothing about the finer art of homekeeping. House- 
keeping is not homekeeping, homekeeping is not 
housekeeping. To say that a woman is a good house- 
keeper is liot to exactly attest her a good homekeeper- - 
to state that a woman is a good homekeeper is to intimate 
also that she is more or less familiar with the details of 
housekeeping. What difference do I make between 
housekeeping and homekeeping? Simply this: Home- 
keeping bears about the same relation to housekeep- 
ing that a fleece of wool bears to the sheep — the sheep 
is covered by the fleece, but cannot cover the fleece. 
In other words, the fleece is not the sheep, the sheep 



92 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

is not the fleece; yet, the two from their very nature 
are inseparable. Housekeeping consists chiefly in 
the preparation of a proportionate amount of food 
each day, looking after the laundry, placing bric-a- 
brac, hanging pictures and arranging curtains, dusting, 
sweeping, making beds, dressing the children, receiv- 
ing callers and entertaining friends. THIS IS THE 
SHEEP. Homekeeping signifies the ability to per- 
form all the duties of keeping house, and in addition 
incorporates the delicate art of making home the 
dearest spot on earth by shedding abroad in it an in- 
fluence that brings husband, son and daughter to- 
gether by the simple bonds of affection. There are 
a great many so-called homes which are merely lodg- 
ing places, where the members appear at regular in- 
tervals for their meals and to sleep. Cheerless and 
dreary, nothing of that comfort which keeps a man 
interested in himself and his is found; hence, he seeks 
pleasure otherwhere, and his wife wonders, and may- 
hap his neighbors wonder why he does ndt pass more 
time in the society of his family. Housekeeping im- 
poses no task greater than catering to the physical 
wants of the household, while homekeeping has to 
deal with the happiness or unhappiness of each mem- 
ber of that household. THIS IS THE FLEECE. 
There is no nobler work for woman than the duty 
of caring for the homes of our land. She should 
study it, live it, be it, and her crown of reward must 
of necessity be studded with brighter stars than she 
could possibly win in competition to her brothers in 
any of the other worlds of common enterprise. God 
knew what was wisest and best when he planned the 
work of men and women, and try as we will, the 
race cannot succeed without homes and mothers; and, 
no improvement has yet been invented over first prin- 
ciples. 

In the wild, mad rush for fame and wealth, while 
throngs are pressing with relentless tread toward the 
goal of glittering assumption called worldly honor, 



THE MODERN DUALITY. 93 

it may be profitable to the young man to stop and re- 
flect a moment on the fact that compartively few really 
great men are much spoken of in history. Reputa- 
tions are won by individuals at some particular thing 
or on some particular line. Some have gained dis- 
tinction as generals, others have merited homage as 
statesmen, 'while still others have grown large in the 
public eye as civic reformers. Who has not admired 
Napoleon, Washington, Grant, as generals? Bismarck 
and Blaine, as statesmen? Gladstone and Lincoln, as 
civilians and reformers? Yet withal the man who 
would achieve true greatness is he who conquers him- 
self. The most difficult conquest ever carried by any 
man, is the conquest over self. He who gains the 
victory over self has outrode Washington, Grant or 
Napoleon; outshone Blaine or Bismarck; accom- 
plished more than Lincoln or the "Grand Old Man." 
There is a vast difference between reputation and 
true greatness. Reputation is usually what it seems 
to be — a meteoric flash. Character is what it is — the 
sum total of whatever degree of greatness to which 
the individual possessing it aspires. Learn your busi- 
ness, young man, then work at it, for as Ruskin says: 
"The law of nature is that a certain amount of work 
is necessary to produce a certain quantity of good of 
any kind whatever. If you want knowledge, you must 
toil for it; food, you must toil for it; and if pleasure, 
you must toil for it." 



FRIENDSHIP. 

Some things there are in this life which of them- 
selves are occult; others there be, which become so 
through manipulation. Of the naturally unfathomable, 
the mysterious movements of those tender chords that 
bind in common fealty the Brotherhood of Man, per- 
haps are as little understood as many of the other 
laws active in the Universe and among the families 
of Earth. The Law of Friendship is not unlike the 
law of gravitation — invisible, intangible — yet so force- 
ful that all material matter is subject to its. involu- 
tions. True Friendship springs spontaneous and un- 
bidden from the human heart, and in the ultimate of 
its excellence, recognizes no weight, comprehends no 
height, measures no limits, shapes no bounds, but 
exists as an infinite power of containableness. Though 
spontaneous, its coming in life may not be instantane- 
ous. For, as Joanna Bailie has pertinently said in 
those beautiful lines in DeMontfort: 

"Friendship is no plant of hasty growth. 
"Though rooted in esteem's deep soil, the slow 
"And gradual culture of kind intercourse 
"Must bring it to perfection." 

It is certainly a most appreciable thing for one per- 
son to receive from another the candid assurance that 
he or she is regarded as a friend. As a rule we never 
know to a certainty just who our real friends are until 
some turn in our affairs causes us to need the assist- 
ance of those outside our own family circle. Every 
individual who pats you on the shoulder and in mo- 
ments of enthusiasm shouts "good fellow," cannot be- 



FRIENDSHIP. 95 

cause of such things necessarily be termed your 
friend. In fact, it often so turns out that he who 
ecstatically swears eternal allegiance and good fellow- 
ship to you, is only biding his opportunity to plunge 
the dagger of rivalric hatred and infidelity into your 
back — that too in an hour when you are disarmed, 
helpless or not expecting treachery from any source. 
Many trusting hearts have been drained of their con- 
fidence through wounds inflicted by conscienceless 
dagger-thrusts of supposed friends. Bacon knew what 
he was saying when he wrote his inimitable essay on 
"Friendship." Bailie, Fuller, Young, Addison, Cath- 
erine Phillips, and all the rest for that matter, were 
not ignorant of the qualities necessary to constitute a 
true friend. So long as one is in position to carry 
the sweep of fortune and float with the tide of pop- 
ular favor, seeming friends flock on all sides like 
moths fluttering about a brightly burning lamp. But 
let misfortune come; let the dark clouds of adversity 
gather and the multitude of apparent friends, like a 
flock of sheep at sight of a hungry wolf, scatter in 
all directions — at best but a very limited number re- 
maining behind to know what becomes of you. When 
the shimmering chimera which attracts the worldly, 
selfish, mercenary friends is gone, the incentive and 
make-believe friends are gone also. Therefore, pur- 
suant to a sensible sort of philosophy, if you find a 
true friend in adversity, it will be eminently safe to 
retain him in prosperity, even though he be, as is 
sometimes the case, but a plain, matter-of-fact, un- 
assuming ignoramus, so to speak. A true friend . is 
he, and he only, who administers to our wants when 
we are in need and cannot help ourselves, and when 
all others have forsaken. The value of a friend is 
not to be measured by the estimate society and the 
world has placed upon him. Did we go to the forum 
of public opinion for eligibles to our innermost faith 
as we go to Dun and Bradstreet to learn the respon- 
sibility of a merchant, it is likely that a long list of 



96 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

desirable names could be selected, but since we can 
only appeal to one source for the selection of those 
in whom to confide — instinct — it is the common lot 
of all to find the number of eligibles painfully limited. 
It is hardly to be expected that those who cluster 
about you at party or ball with smirk and smile and 
ethereal levity, would make any attempt whatever to 
•protect your property against depreciation, throw safe- 
guards around your body at the approach of danger, 
or defend your character against the searing breath 
of calumny. Rather those, who, know the inurements 
of pain and sorrow on the practical side of life, are 
the ones usually first to intuitively read a nature in 
need and respond promptly to its instinctive call for 
help. 

There is a wide difiference between Acquaintance- 
ship and Friendship. Our acquaintances are simply 
those with whom society brings us in contact, while 
our friends are those to whom we consign the keep- 
ing of our moral interests and in whom we confide 
our inmost secrets. The former may exist and asso- 
ciate on approval, but the latter have vitality and 
worth only through the mysterious contrivances of 
implicit confidence. We choose our friends from 
among our acquaintances, and touching such choice 
Young says, in "Night Thoughts:" — 

"First on thy friend deliberate with thyself: 
"Pause, ponder, sift; not eager in the choice, 
"Now jealous of the chosen — fixing, fix; 
"Judge before friendship, then confide till death." 

Where two persons are in reality true friends, neither 
of them experiences any difficulty in believing absolute- 
ly and faithfully in the other, because as Catherine 
Phillips asserts: — 

"Friendship's an abstract of this noble flame, 
" 'Tis love refined and purged from all its dross, 



FRIENDSHIP. 97 

" 'Tis next to Angel's love, if not the same, 
" As strong as passion is, though not so gross." 

Where such conditions of heart obtain doubt is 
among the impossibilities, and fidelity comes as na- 
turally as the spirit of contentment or the impulse of 
ambition, leading onward and upward to that higher 
and purer atmosphere where the eye of the Soul can 
see and feel as did the mind and heart of Bacon, when 
he said: — "It had been hard for him that spake it to 
have put more truth and untruth together in few 
words than in that speech, 'Whosoever is delighted in 
solitude is either a wild beast or a god; for it is most 
true that a natural and secret hatred and aversion to- 
wards society in any man hath somewhat of the sav- 
age beast ; but it is most untrue that it should have any 
character at all of the Divine nature, except it pro- 
ceed, not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of a 
love and desire to sequster a man's self for a higher 
conversation: for a crowd is not company, and faces 
are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling 
cymbal, where there is no love. * * * It is a mere 
and miserable solitude to want true friends, without 
which the world is but a wilderness. Whosoever in 
the frame of his nature and affections is unfit for friend- 
ship, he taketh it of the beast and not from humanity. 

A principal fruit of friendship is the ease and dis- 
charge of the fullness of the heart, which passions of 
all kinds do cause and induce. We know^ diseases of 
stoppings and suffocations are the most dangerous in 
the body; and, it is not much otherwise in the mind; 
you may take sarza to open the liver, steel to open 
the spleen, flower of sulphur for the lungs, castoreum 
for the brain, but no recipe openeth the heart but a 
true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, joys, 
fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth 
upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift 
or confession." When persons have seen, instinctive- 
ly, each through the very nature of the other, and can 



98 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

fully feel the uniting strength predominant, no safer 
plan presents itself for the perpetuation of that frame 
of mind than to adopt Shakespeare's advice: 

"The friends thou hast and their adoption tried. 
"Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; 
"Nor, dull thy palm of entertainment, 
"With each new-found, untried fledgling." 

Emerson says, "Friendship, like the immortality of 
the soul, is too good to be believed."' In support of this 
theory I bring the experience of life in evidence, fully 
confident that the reader will recognize much in it that 
is common to the lives of all true hearts who have seen 
and believed beyond the coarser atmosphere of egotism 
and individuality alone : 

I reign dow^n deep in a real woman's heart, 

In the fond heart of my friend kind and true; 

Pauline — who with affection's nicer art, 

Hath certain gone her way my own heart through. 

I mean not that coarse, sentimental flush. 

So eagerly sought by the indiscreet; 

But finer thought — -to speak, we need not blush — 

Strongest bondage of the Soul, pure and sweet. 

Oft have her soulful orbs beamed with surprise. 
When I, somehow by the suddenness of chance. 
Would above petty things of Earth arise, 
And point out acts our morals to enhance. 
She came to me like a star in the sky. 
Gleaming beacon to my faltering feet; 
And, her kindness won me, I know not why, 
The very first time we'd a chance to meet. 

'Twas on a beautiful winter's evening. 
On the thirty-first day of December, 
Kosciuskoans were then receiving 
Enmask, if correctly I remember. 



FRIENDSHIP. 99 

'Twas a select party of girls and boys; 
Of young men and women in Syracuse 
Who came full of vim and all sorts of toys, 
To please the others and themselves amuse, 

T attended at the hostess' request, 

To write of the things I could hear and see, 

Thereby answering a social behest — 

To -watch with them— egress of ninety-three. 

My suit was common, like that of the host — 

An ordinary business attire — 

While she, now my friend, was dressed as a ghost; 

Which costume, I did not then much admire. 

But when the supper hour came with a bound. 
Just before the old year went swiftly out, 
And the guests filled almost three tables 'round 
Indulging all, in jest and smile and pout. 
The hostess introduced my lady friend, 
Who, with lowly bow and a tender smile — 
Gave to me her attention there and then, 
And 'gan at once my spirits to beguile. 

Later on at a social reception. 

She sat to my left 'mid the guests so grand;— 
I think her now, as then, with exception; 
I know her better— do you understand? 
She has gone with me to party and ball. 
And given me many a pleasing chance. 
To study her qualities, each and all — 
To learn that she may own worth could enhance. 

All these years she's been my Councellor wise, 
As touching things of interest to both_; 
Plans to make me glad she seems to devise, 
And to break our friendship she's ever loath. 
She confides me all of her secrets too— 
Those knawing troubles refined women know— 

L.ofC. 



lOO BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

And often wonders what she'd better do, 
The absence of such ill-feeling to show. 

Many times have I heard her trembling sighs, 
And saw her bosom heave with sobs, 
While tears flowed freely from her flaming eyes, 
And her heart beat wildly, its aching throbs. 
At such times the most I could do or say, 
Was just to look her calmly in the face — 
Brush the scalding drops from her cheeks away. 
And coax happy smiles to brighten their place. 

Oft have the little windows of her soul, 
Been thrown full open to my gaze, so wide, 
That I saw no duty, save to condole, 
The tender heart that me she did confide. 
Trustingly she'd permit me — only guest — 
To remove the treacherous holocaust, — 
While I'd try to woo troubled thought to rest; 
Would offer sympathy — whate'er she'd lost. 

Some people may think our attachment queer. 

Considering I'm a man — she's a maid; 

But no manner of senseless talk or jeer, 

Can change what I believe, or what I've said. 

To me, she is the plainest, frankest friend. 

Who speaks deploringly of all her fault, 

And seemeth ever ready to descend, 

To where my own base moods she can exalt. 

To the individual seeing through the light of a clari- 
fied vision there come singular, yet competent con- 
ceptions of the beauty, strength and utility of that 
inner unity of forces titled, "Friendship." In the his- 
tory of. all ages the incidents where true souls were 
"knit together," as the sacred writer puts it, in the 
purest bonds of faith are rare, and have called out 
more or less memorialization. Damon and Pythias, 
two Pythagoreans, who lived in the fourth century 



FRIENDSHIP. loi 

proceeding the Christian Era, and David, the son of 
Jesse, and Jonathan, the son of Saul, furnish in their 
lives particular examples of fidelity in the face of 
danger and difficulty. 

To the man or woman of the World, the conditions 
of mind and heart which lead to patience and suf- 
fering by one person for another where there is no 
visible sign of compensation or reward, have about 
them the air of mystery. 

The bassic principles in which the ideas of Friend- 
ship center, shape themselves into forms harmonious 
to that frame of mind and condition of heart which 
clothe in rythm such thoughts as are controlled by 
that fine art in diction, plainly termed, poetry. 

As a professional art, it often happens that mutual 
friends are unlearned in the science of meter, yet in 
their associations the language of each touches a sym- 
pathetic choid of euphony in the breast of the other. 

The poetry of the Soul, and every soul has a kind 
of poetry, is ever collating pleasing sounds; and, for 
most part, in unexpected places — sometimes from sur- 
prising sources. In other words, the heart hears ar- 
ticulate vibrations as lips give them motion, and thus 
the mind is inspired by thoughts of healthy apprecia- 
tion. It was Addison who wrote: 

"Great Souls by instinct to each other turn. 
"Demand alliance, and in Friendship burn;" 

which calls to mind the testimony of Mrs. Browning, 
who in writing to a "friend," following the day of 
their marriage made the memorable remark, that, no 
person in all the wide world could understand her hus- 
band as she understood him. 

Both were earnest, both were poets, which proves 
there is no higher assurance of Virtue than that one 
is earnest, except it be the eloquent story written in 
the language of the heart, and which makes known 
to one other as much of its inner self as the possessor 



I02 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

knows to exist, and fitly constitutes the foundation for 
trustworthy belief by both— belief so strong that no 
power on earth can break it. 

That sense of Soul within one person which speaks 
its complement in another seems sufficient to prove, 
at least to the philosophic mind, that, as water seeks 
its level and finds it, even so and likewise do souls 
of equal intensity seek and find each other; and, as 
one has said, "However much you see that is not 
there, you perfectly understand what is there." I am 
faithful to the belief that the wants of men and women 
are not dissimilar, with regard to sympathy, and love, 
and understanding. The things which every man's 
nature craves, is, to be loved, sympathized with and 
understood; the things which every woman's heart 
desires, is to be understood, sympathized with and 
loved. To the full accomplishment of this end, both 
confider and confidante must be serious, each with 
the other — because it is only "the slow and gradual 
growth of kind intercourse" that reaches the depth 
and power of an untangled relationship of Virtue with 
its own — poetic rythm. 

Thus we can in a measure comprehend how it was 
possible for Jonathan to defy the anger of irate Saul 
in defense of the mterests and life of one he loved, or 
Pythias, who could bless the gods for preventing the 
return of Damon, for whom he was held in ban as 
hostage. 

The story of Damon and Pythias is a rich narra- 
tive of that Pythagorean religion, which founds its 
final resolution in the brightest diadem of an inner 
philosophy that taught its students to see no terror 
in death compared to the prostitution of their morals 
and faithfulness to their word and honor. For, as 
the immortal bard would teach: 

"From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
"The place is dignified by the doer's deed: 
"Where great additions swell, and virtue none. 



FRIENDSHIP. 103 

"It is a dropsied honor; good alone 
"Is good, without a name; vileness is so: 
"The prope'ty by what it is should go, 
"Not by the title. * * * Honors best thrive, 
"When rather from our acts we them derive 
"Than our foregoer." 



DIONYSIUS, THE TYRANT OF 
SYRACUSE. 

Most sad is the record made by Circa, tliat having 
defeated the Carthaginians, Dionysius took possession 
of the chief city, Syracuse, as King, and proceeded to 
make everybody afraid of him. 

This he succeeded in accomplishing but the sense 
that he was occupying a position that did not belong 
to him, and was exercising power which should prop- 
erly have been vested in a council of magistrates, 
caused him to be exceedingly hated and filled his life 
with harshness and suspicion. 

It is said he had a chamber hollowed in a rock near 
the state prison in such a way as to conduct sounds to 
his ears as he sat on the throne. Thus he was en- 
abled to hear what his captives said of him. Diony- 
sius was in constant dread. He slept in a bedroom 
with a wide trench around it, to protect him from 
assassins. 

At one time he put a barber to death for saying he 
held a razor to the tyrant's throat each morning. After 
that he had his young daughters to shave — or until he 
distrusted them — when he had them singe his beard 
with hot nut-shells. 

Thus we see a man of power, who under ordinary 
circumstances should have loved and honored, by 
his own choice of conduct, groveling in the very ruin 
of dishonor and suspicion. 

One author has it that at the time the incidents be- 
gan to occur about which the story of Damon and 
Pythias is told, there was a great public gathering in 
Syracuse, and Damon and Pythias being men of some 



DIONYSIUS. 105 

prominence were among the throng, having in their 
company Damon's Httle son. At a point where one 
of the driveways from the royal palace connected with 
a principal street of the city, quite a crowd had gath- 
ered. 

Dionysius' son, a boisterous, cruel fellow, came 
dashing down the drive in a chariot, drawn by a span 
of mettlesome greys, at a break-neck gait. He seem- 
ingly paid no attention to the people, but would have 
driven over them, but for the fact that Damon grabbed 
the bits and brought the horses to a sudden stand- 
still. 

This so enraged the King's son that he struck 
Damon several times across the face with a heavy 
whip, and immediately laid complaint before Diony- 
sius, who sentenced Damon to death at sundown. But 
a few hours intervened, so he was placed in the dun- 
geon. 

Pythias, who was the bosom friend of Damon, came 
forth and pleaded with the King for a six-hours' re- 
spite in behalf of his friend, that he might be per- 
mitted to see his wife before he died, ofifering himself 
as hostage for Damon's return. 

Here was something decidedly new to the usurper 
who sat on the dishonorable throne at Syracuse. He 
could not understand it, but resolved to test the fidel- 
ity of these two men. Accordingly, he ordered Py- 
thias in chains and gave Damon liberty for six hours. 
Imagine, if you can, dear reader, what would be the 
expectations and anxiety for the final outcome of such 
an event to one of Dionysius' turn of mind. 

He recalls the moment when, before remanding 
Damon to the dungeon he had said. "We reserve this 
proud, assassinating demagogue, who whets his dag- 
ger on philosophy, for — an example to his cut-throat 
school! — the axe, and liot the sword. Out of his 
blood we'll mix a cement to our monarchy; here do 
we doom him to a pu!:''c death." 

He also remembers how proudly Damon answered 



io6 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

his unjust edict by saying: "Death's the best gift to 
one that never yet wished to survive his country. 
Here are men fit for the Hfe a tyrant can bestow, let 
such as these live on." 

He also feels something of a cringe of conscience 
when his taunting, cruel words, "Hold you there, lest. 
having stirred our vengeance into wrath, it reach unto 
those dearer than thyself — thy wife and child. Ha! 
have I touched thee, Damon? Is there a way to level 
thee unto the feebleness of universal nature? What, 
no word? Come, use thy time my brave philosopher. 
Thou hast a few moments left," bring vividly Damon's 
ringing declaration, "I know thee well — thou art wont 
to use thy tortures on the heart, watching its agoniz- 
ing throbs, and make a science of that fell anatomy! 
These are thy bloody metaphysics — this thy barbar- 
ous philosophy! I own thou hast struck thy venomed 
sting into my soul, but while I am wounded, I despise 
thee still! My wife! My child! Oh, Dionysius, thou 
shouldst have spared me that." 

Indeed, who can note, without a feeling of sympathy, 
the tenderness of Damon's speech to his nearest 
friend, Pythias, after the tyrant had denied a hearing 
to -Damon's pleas that his wife might visit him in the 
prison. 

"Ere you came up, my friend, I was about to leave 
a greeting for you. I bade the of^cer say, too — despite 
of rules well conned and understood, in such a time 
as this — so sudden, hopeless and unlooked for. — the 
eyes will water and the heart grow cowardly, at 
thoughts of home, and things we love at home; and 
something like a sorrow, or a fear, for what may hap- 
pen them, will stick in the throat to choke our words, 
and make them weak and womanish." 

Then again, the mystery of mysteries, when Pythias 
throws his whole soul into that personal appeal to 
the King: 

"Behold me, Dionysius, at thy feet! As thou dost 
love thy wife, and thy sweet children; as thou art a 



DIONYSIUS. 107 

husband and a father, hear me! Let Damon go and 
see his wife and child before he dies — for six hours 
respite him — put me in chains: plunge me into his 
dungeon, as a pledge for his return; do this — but this 
— and may the gods themselves build up thy greatness 
as high as their own heavens." 

Can we marvel at the King's saying in response to 
that apeal, "What wonder is this? Is he thy brother?" 
Nor is less reason for wonderment in Pythias' reply, 
"No, not quite my brother. Not — yes, he is — not in 
the fashion that that the world puts on, but my brother 
in heart!" 

Still wrapped in his own selfishness and blinded by 
suspicions Dionysius could not yet see into that 
science of human living which could and did lead to 
the sacrifice of life for another — one who was a 
brother only by instinctive adoption. However, to his 
credit let it be said, he began an investigation, which 
not only convinced him of his utter insignificance, but 
gave to the World a bassic principle upon which to 
build one of the greatest and grandest fraternities 
known to mankind. 

Whatever may have been Dionysius' character and 
reputation, none can doubt the sincerity of his pur- 
pose in trying to test the fidelity of Pythias, by steal- 
ing, disguised, to his dungeon and urging him earn- 
estly to flee from the certain death awaiting him, 
claiming to be a friend who had heard the King's 
plan to intercept Damon's return. 

The manliness of Pythias stands out in still bolder 
contrast to the human and sentimental side of the 
question when we note the peremptory manner in 
which he sets aside the suggestions of Dionysius and 
the pleadings of Calanthe, his betrothed, by saying: 

"If mothers love the babe upon the breast, when it 
looks up with laughter in its eyes, making them weep 
for joy — if they can love, I loved, and do love thee, 
my Calanthe. But wert thou magnified above thyself, 
as much in fascination as thou art above all creatures 



io8 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACJSK. 

else — by all the gods, in awful reverence sworn, I 
would not cheat my honor!" 

None will question the beauty of that philosophy, 
which prompted him to say in the face of Calanthe 
and the disguised, and pretended rescuer on hearing 
that the King had broken faith, that, "I should not 
have heard it; or having heard it I still hold it false. 
This busy world is but made up of slight contingencies 
— there are a thousand that may alter this, or leave -it 
where it was; there is not one, should push us a mere 
point from any pledge of manliness and honor. Yet 
would I live — live to possess my own Calanthe here, 
who recommends existence with a smile so sad and 
beautiful! — Yet would I live — but not dishonored! — 
Still, Calanthe, he may return — May! May! That word 
ends all! Death looks grimly, and the grave is cheer- 
less — yet I do, I do prefer the certainty of death to 
the possibility of dishonor." 

Returning to Damon, we find that after arriving 
home and conveying the information of his sentence, 
Hermion, his wife, urged him to flee to Greece or 
Italy that his life might be preserved to her and their 
child. She argued as most men and women would and 
do argue, that, 

"Life, to save that, the wrong becomes the right. 
The gods that made us so quickened us, nature so 
prompts us, and all men forgive it, because all men 
do it. By the love (if thou hast any) of thy wife and 
child — aye frown Damon, frown and kill me, too, or 
live for us! Husband look on us, we are at thy feet." 

To those readers, who are husbands and fathers 
there will come something of a conception of the feel- 
ings of Damon, when he said in defense of his pur- 
pose: 

"Yes, you are, I see it, and my heart bleeds for you. 
Nay, I must turn my eyes from you, while you are 
urging me to my dishonor, and bid me murder Py- 
thias that I may live. Farewell, my Hermion; fare- 
well, forever!" 



DIONYSIUS. 109 

Our hearts go out for the slave, who in his devotion 
for'^hL master' sought to save his life by f Y^ng ^ 
horse upon which he rode. Aye isn t there the sign 

"^'^1^:1^^^. I have slain his horse. Never 
shall he return! This hand has cast an intercept be- 
twe n him and the block Perchance he' 1 kill me- 
biit I heed not that; the time shall be, when, at 
U^cuUuJ' name, he will lift up his hands and weep 

^""inTed the heart bleeds when the fate of that slave 
is recalied because his blind devotion is a pleasing 
contrast ti the estimate set upon human character 
by pra tical men of a practical world who measure 
men's inclinations by the common standard of self. 

Dionysins held, that, "Over all, that science, which 
do?hm'old 'touching the soul and its affection, 1 
hieh discoursing, had attracted him. It was his 
c led ihat n this flesh of ours, self ever entertains 
predominance. And to all friendship he was a per^ 
servering infidel. For this reason he tried the strange 
experiment, never for a moment behevmg that Damon 
would return— to death. 

In this condition it is plain he was not fit to com 
orehend the character of two such men as Damon 
and Pythias Nor was it until the very last moments 
o? resphe that he could fully understand the sacredness 

°'oh"how the heart of every Knight has thrilled 
at the reckal of the incidents of those last moments! 
A Syracuse is thronged with people who have 
come from far and near to witness the execut on 
orone w^o dared the authority of a wretched ru e • 
As the sun sank lower and lower, the expectation 
grew more intense-almost breathless at times 
' The population had no faith in the Possibdity o 
Damon's return, but at the last moment, when Py^thias 
wa^on the block, he came in sight, upon which mighty 
shouts arose. 



no BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Breathless and exhausted he fell senseless at the 
place of execution Regaining consciousness after a 
little, he sees the scatfold, the block, the axe and 
the executioner and — Pythias alive. Then mount- 
ing the scaffold, he shouted: 

"I am here upon the scaffold, look at me. I am 
standing on. my throne; as proud as yon illumined 
mountain, where the sun makes his last stand; let 
him look on me too; he never did behold a spectacle 
more full of natural glory. Death is — ha! all Syra- 
cuse starts up upon her hills, and lifts her hundred 
thousand hands and shouts. Hark, how she shouts. 
Oh, Dionysius, when wert thou in thy life hailed 
with a peal of hearts and hands like that one? Shout 
again and again, until the mountains echo you, and 
the great sea joins in that mighty voice, and old 
Euceladus, the Son of Earth, stirs in his mighty 
caverns. Tell me, slaves, where is your tyrant? Let 
me see him now; why stands he hence aloof? Where 
is your master? What has become of Dionysius? 

Knights of Pythias of the World, how grand a 
foundation for the Fraternal Order that came into 
existence nearly -two score years ago, for the practice 
of the three golden principles — Friendship, Charity 
and Benevolence — and which now numbers more than 
half a millfon! 



RATHBONE TEMPLE. 

Step lightly, my Brother between these walls. 

Where alone friendship's altar rests enshrined, 
To hold the ballot box and ballot balls, 

Which, to the grandest Order yet designed. 
Elect Pythian candidates as they come, 

To find out how Rathbones pass the time, 
Away from husband, and children, and home, 

Every Tuesday night at Vesper's chime. 

As you pass the guard at the inner door, 

Be sure that the signs you correctly give, 
Else the Sisters may march you 'round the floor 

And perforate your vision with a seive. 
For when the Rathbones meet on business bent, 

'Tis well each Knight remembers where he's at ; 
Strong in their defense and quick to resent; 

They might soon show him the door and lii.s hat. 

Forget not, Brother, that these Sisters all. 

Have taken a vow before that altar. 
Which silent rests in every Castle Hall, 

Firm as the wave-washed rocks of Gibraltar. 
Therefore, unto us they stand in the light 

Of a great Sisterhood in Pythianland, 
Where each, who's taken this vow, has the right 

To fill with something, each small, empty hand. 



THB BACHELOR GIRL'S RESOLVE. 

Just thirty-one years old I am, they say, thirty-one sum- 
mers I have passed! 

Oh, dear! It seems to me but yesterday, that la Httle 
girl was classed. 

Ah, yes, a child, with toys an' hurts an' tears; rosy- 
cheekt romp of tender age, 

Stranger to trials and sorrows and fears — to problems 
on Life's faulty page. 

I joy today in Earthly pleasures free, my heart and 
mind serenely calm; 

For, at this hour, my watching eyes can see, delight- 
ful ease in Nature's balm. 

At school I was taught of Science and Art — also 
something in Classic lore; 

Yet, out of it all. there's a tender heart, my innermost 
self to adore. 

My mind goes back in memory once more, to occa- 
sions of childish glee, 

When my old board playhouse, so rich in store, stood 
by the back-yard apple tree. 

These thoughts remind me of those blissful days, when 
innocence and girlhood care, 

Shaped a principle of feminine ways, "which, often in 
pain, I must bear. 

Oh, gladsome! must have been those youthful days, 
with life made bright by newest joys, 

Coming from merry songs and mirthful plays, among 
the neighbor girls and boys. 

Then, too, there's Papa and Mamma so dear, who 
guided my infantile feet; 

They have kept me at their hearthstone, so near; 
given me their love, pure and sweet. 



THE BACHELOR GIRL'S RESOLVE. 113 

But passing years wonderful changes have brought, in 

teachings liberal and grand, 
Knowledge, its generous power hath wrought, the fol- 
lies of youth to disband. 
True, not all joy, nor all pain have I seen — somehow 

mixtures of all, forsooth, 
Have sheened Life's tioublesouic pathway, I ween, 

with thoughts of purity and truth. 
Yet, o'er me steals a feeling of sadness, as I think of 

times that are gone. 
With their wealth of ioi^e and hope and gladness — 

their work and play and joy and song. 
But why worry about things of the past? Whatever is, 

must so remain. 
Why gaze upon circumstance, then, aghast, and from 

duty-doing refrain? 
They tell me a Spinster's fate is my doom; no doubt 

that is true, gentle tolk. 
But I'd rather live alone, I presume, than marry a 

shiftless Old Bloke. 
Better without a husband, I believe; even though I 

die an Old Maid, 
Than to let some man my spirit aggrieve, and shrink 

from his presence — afraid. 
In abundance the World has its pleasures; and, hard- 
ships, too, 'tis my belief; 
We choose playthings and call them our treasures, 

though through them comes much of our grief. 
But ere very long phantoms they glide — into gloomier 

shadows they go — 
And hard by them our frailties and pride, "which we, 

in our ignorance show. 
Now, as for me and my own choice of plans — why, 

they must be just to my taste: — 
My neighbors shall know the work of my hands, not 

one jot of time will I waste. 
Those little Tots coming under my care, shall be 

things of love true and kind; 
Tabby Cat, too, -will come in for a share of my heart's 

affections to find. 



114 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

In the Wgrld's mad rush for fame and all that, I'll 

stay by my own little place; 
I'll contend not for fine gown, nor high hat; nor rib- 
bons, nor flimflams nor lace. 
I intend being as nice as I can, with a countenance 

most comely. 
And should I ne'er have the care of a man, I'm glad, 

though humble and homely. 
The sky is cloudless and cheerful tonight, with spread- 
ing dome of azure hue, 
While yon silver moon with its mellow light, gives 

lustre to the falling dew. 
Each zephyr breeze a new happiness brings, where the 

old swing rocks to and fro; 
The voice of the night-bird with music rings, as it 

comes in tones soft and low. 
Beautiful stars — diamonds in the sky; so bright they 

stud that open space — 
Firmament, and heavens so great on high, I scarce 

can look them in the face. 
Twilight has already come and gone — gloom of night 

is around me here: 
A breath of fragrance comes to me so lone, laden 

with melody and cheer. 
Let me sing again the songs of childhood, which 

made my heart so light and gay. 
As I traversed meadow-lot and wild-wood, for flowers 

and pleasures and play. 
Right here, in these very shadows, and swing, I'll 

gaze on in hopeful content. 
At the sparkling gleams those tiny stars fling — smiles 

of the Saviour, which are sent. 
Then farewell, to girlhood's happy young years, which 

have passed too quickly away: — 
I'll live the future in hopes and in fears, content with 

my duties and day. 
Thirty-one! I may not reach them again! But 

whether I do so or not, 
I'll be the truest, best woman I can, and never find 

fault with my lot. 



MA'S DIRTY, LAZY BOY, JIM. 

Ma, she says, "Jimmie, wash yer han's an' face; 

"Comb yer hair, an' go right to Skool! 

"You're the laziest young un' on the place— 

"A playin' an' actin' the fool — 

"Hurry up! Git on them stockin's an' shoes, 

"An' take 'long yer books an' dinner! 

"Oh, dear, you're so slow! It gnes me the blues- 

"Sca'mper ofif, you little sinner!" 

I don't see w'at they've got Skool fur ennyway; 

Jus' to shut Boys up in a cage, 

An' keep 'em shut up there, day after day, 

Readin' dry ole books, page by page. 

W'y can't we have a rest once in a while? 

I'm quite sure it's more fun to play 

Football, Shinney, Black Man, an' run a mile. 

Than 'em 'ere hard lessons to say. 

I don't think the feller w'at wrote our books, 

An' made out all 'em rules so thick, 

Ever spent many hours with line an' hooks 

Or broke winders out with a brick. 

I know he didn't swipe nest eggs from the hen, 

Were she laid 'em in Spring to set; 

Nor chase his Daddy's hogs out o' the pen; 

Nor the sheep, till pantin' an' wet. 

I guess he never tried to ketch a duck, 
As it went floatin' down the Crick; 
Don't think he ever hoed the garden truck, 
Or on his Mother played a trick. 
He never had the fun o' runnin' out, 



ii6 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

An' shooin' chickens off the lot; 

Or his back warm'd up with a hick'ry sprout, 

Fur skarin' cows to make 'em trot. 

He never plugged Dad's melons in the patch, 
An' found 'em as green as grass — 
Never hung on the barn-door by the latch. 
Or thow'd stones't all who tried to pass. 
He didn't gether sheaves in harvest fer fun, 
Nor fetch the water in a jug; 
He didn't try to go thru' swamps on the run, 
An' fall into the mire kerchug; 

He never hunted fur squirrels an' nuts, 

An' carried the gun in his hand; 

He never came home, all bruises an' cuts. 

With eyes full 'o leaf-dust an' sand; 

He never practiced with arrow an' bow, 

Aimin' at the dog an' the cat; 

Never across wet hayfields had to go, 

To find his lost stockin's an' hat. 

He must 'ave been a pious little lad, 

To grow up without doin' wrong; 

Jus' stayed real close by the side o' his Dad; 

Didn't w'istle, or sing a loud song. 

I'd shout to see my Pa raise me like that! 

There'd be sorrow among the folks: 

'Cause I wus born the very hardest bat — 

Chock full 'o boyish tricks an' jokes. 

Pa, he says, boys ain't no bizness to Skool: 

'Cause they're more useful on the farm; 

There they don't have to learn lessons by rule, 

An' if they're mean, it doesn't do harm. 

Wen he was a lad, livin' near the Sea, 

His Pa let 'im stay right to home: 

His Ma did 'is work fur 'im, te he, he — 

Not even 'is hair did he comb! 



MA'S DIRTY, LAZY BOY, JIM. 117 

I'm jus' real glad that Skool will soon be out! 

Then Ma won't call us so early 

To get up; an' we'll hop an' skip about, 

With Rover, Tommy an' Curly — 

Down through the orchard an' field o' clover, 

Across the fence, near to the Crick, 

Were they washed the lambs an' sheared 'em over, 

An' made 'em look so thin an' sick. 

Won't we have fun, tho', at the swimmin' hole, 

Wen we git from this dingey Skool? 

We'll swim, an' dive, an' fish, with line an' pole, 

At the dam, an' in Thompson's pool. 

What'll we care fur 'rithmetic, an' grammar, 

Readin', writin', singin', spellin', 

Wen we can jus' crack the whip an' clamor 

The joy in ov.r bosoms wellin'? 

Pa says he thinks I would make a preacher; 

But Ian' sakes! You jus' ought to see 

The fellers make trouble fur the teacher, 

Wen she mentions such stufif to me! 

I'm goin' to be a Hobo, an' roam 

O'er all this wide an' fertile Lan', 

From the" hall up town to the State-house dome:— 

Jus' you 'watch me, w'en I'm a man! 

Jokes aside, we've got a dandy teacher; 
Fine eyes, small ban's, soft an' white; 
Smilin', warm-hearted, delicate feature — 
But she makes the Kids do what's right! 
She paints a pictur', or spins a story, 
An' tells us all 'bout the lesson; 
Sometim^es, she sings a song 'bout Ok Glory; 
Then ag'in she puts us guessin'. 

But the Kids don't like "Prof," 'cause he's the coon, 
That slaps yer ears an' pounds yer hand; 
An' -we're all glad that Skool kill let out soon: 



ii8 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Then we'll show 'im who's got the sandi 
Pay 'im back fur grabbin' our collars, 
An' jerkin' like a Hottentot; 
An' we don't care how he kicks an' hollers 
There's no one like our own Miss Scott. 

She loves a lad, an' tells 'im he's okay — 

Made o' jus' the right kind o' stuff 

To do great things, whether at work or play; 

'A real diamond in the rough." 

But somehow I ain't built like other boys, 

That come here so strong and ruddy; 

I can't perform tasks an' call 'em my joys: 

Guess I'm too lazy to study. 

But I hope when Life's lessons I master — 
All is plain which puzzles me now — 
I'll heach that haven without disaster, 
'Though I didn't know the why an' how. 
I mean to spend the Summer vacation — 
Not at hard work! But to be prim: 
In keeping clean my own reputation, 
As Ma's dirty, lazy boy, Jim. 



WATERLOO'S SMILING TWENTY. 

'Waterloo's Smiling Twenty" lasses prim, decided a 
day at the Lake, 

Where they all could swing and ramble and swim, was 
the kind of outing they'd take. 

So with energy and effort supreme, they settled the 
thing in a trice. 

And secured hayladders, wagon and team, and a driver, 
by name Robert Price. 

At an early hour on Tuesday morning, the twenty-sev- 
enth day of June, 

Old Sol in gold the landscape adorning, shone on garb^ 
— from pink to maroon. 

Bright, happy faces, too, there were in plenty, assem- 
bled at Darby's abode. 

Where these pretty girls, The Smiling Twenty, climbed, 
the wagon and Northward rode. 

Ah, what a lovely sight they did present! as swiftly 

they were borne away, 
To the green spot of languorous content — Cold Springs 

— on that fine, sunny day! 
Their lunch-baskets, full to the very brim, with all 

kinds of goods things to eat, 
And strong hammocks, which they tied to a limb — 

made up this great holiday treat. 
Gaily they talked and sang along the trip— hearts light 

— high spirits' goodly slice — 
They, womanlike, allowed no chance to slip, for crack- 
ing jokes on Mr. Price. 
At last, through Hamilton they had to pass, before to 

Cold Springs they could get — 
Where rude Romeos gazed on each blessed less— mad^ 

eyes blink, which are blinking yet. 



120 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Not a single man 'was seen in that crowd — Waterloo's 

maidenly sweetness — 
Our own Smiling Twenty, who seem so proud, to 

"go't" alone with completeness. 
And all went well till they wanted to swing — pick- 

nicking's not without alloy — 
One girl got "mixt" with hammock rope and ring, 

and shouted for her own Dear Boy. 
Finally to them the dinner hour came, when baskets 

oped and gave to sight — 
Mass of pie, cake, chicken and other game, as would 

make Kings smile with delight. 
Guests of honor, Misses Powell and Shull, got many a 

toast and favor. 
While the girls ate down their chicken and crull, and 

sipt their drink of water flavor. 

It was truly a pleasant place to be, 'neath the dense, 

of that grand old shade, 
Where Dame Nature, her treasures so free, had lav- 
ished on lake, hill and glade. 
"Alas!" sighed the maids, "how short is the time, when 

home, we'll have to be going, 
"And in that bumpy old wagon to climb — we're sure; 

we'd rather go rowing!" 
So with fingers deft and a style so nice, they packed 

basket, hammock, trinket; 
Then sought their handsome driver, Mr. Price, and, 

said, "Stay? Now don't you think it! 
"We are going home, and that pretty quick! Hurry 

us off, Sir! to the South! 
"If ever again, we do such a trick, we want to be slapt 

in the mouth." 

*Twas quite dark when the load came into town, look- 
in all tired out and weary; 

Faces bright in the morn, now sunburnt and brown, 
presented a scene most dreary. 

Thus "Smiling Twenty" had a day's pleasure, and hard- 
ships, too, 'tis our belief; 



WATERLOO'S SMILING TWENTY. 121 



They took playthings and called 'em their treasures, 

and thru' 'em came much of the grief. 
We know not what thoughts the girls have in mind, 

whether they'll still procrastinate, 
Or each begin to hustle 'round to find, a doting 

"hubby" for her mate. 
Perhaps they'll get up a society, these Twenty nice, 

innocent joys — 
Who'll "go" when they like — in propriety, without 

the company of Boys. 



WHAT THE HUMAN HEART MAY 
ENDURE. 

How much our hearts may bear without breaking! 
Great flesh suffering, yet it does not die! 
I wonder if keenest pain and aching 
Of souls and bodies, brings their end more nigh? 
Death bides His own time; till that hour is worn, 
All suffering may be borne. 

We shrink at sight of the physician's knife, 
Our faces blanch at the touch of cruel steel, 
That seems to be searching for human life! 
Yet to our feeble sense these pangs reveal 
This truth: the heart's tender cords may be torn, 
But that, too, can be borne. 

Sorrow comes towering high in our way, 
We flee at once from the approach of heartless ill. 
And try to find escape — shed tears and pray: 
The blow falls; then our quivering hearts are still — 
Pain goring at us with its sharpest horn; 
But such things must be borne. 

One life is twined about another life; 
That soul is sweeter, dearer, than our own; 
Sometimes it faints and falls in mortal strife; 
Then we feel stunned, heartbroken and alone, 
And wish we were pulseless, like those we mourn. 
But this too, must be borne. 

We may endure all things — yes, famine, thirst. 
Misery, pain, bereavement, deadly grief; 
Of woeful sorrow, Life's afflictions, worst 



THE BOILERMAKERS' DANCE. 123 

Through obedience, patience and full belief 
In Him, who, for us, was tired, faint and worn, 
Can earthly ills be borne. 



THE BOILERMAKERS' DANCE. 

It's eleven years ago, I believe, 

That the Boilermakers in town, 
Decided fully on Thanksgiving Eve, 

To do things up, and do 'em brown. 
So they got together the girls and boys, 

Who were known to be pleasure bent, 
And gave them the right to an evening's joys — 

The right to dance their hearts' content. 

'Tis true, throughout these years, some have blundered 

In making the Dance a success, 
But in this happy year. Nineteen Hundred, 

All have cause to rejoice, I guess. 
The garbs of green and blue and black and pink, 

Worn by ladies of smiling face, 
Made each young man gallant when he'd think 

Of Garrett's youth, beauty and grace. 



FIXING THE FAULT. 

Strange, indeed, is the turn affairs sometimes take 
in our lives. It happens on occasion that some mor- 
tals are given a foretaste of heaven, only to suddenly 
relapse into the throes of despair, enshrouded with a 
cloud of casualty so thick and so dense that the feeble 
sunlight of hope proves powerless to penetrate. Thus 
many lives are often filled with gloom and sadness. 
In our human sightedness we often fix the respon- 
sibility for certain desperate conditions on the shoulders 
of some one individual and thereby try to satisfy the 
requirements of our own minds with regard to those 
supposedly guilty of disturbinsr the tranquility of our 
existence and circumscribing the limits of our peaceful 
enjoyment of material things. 

Could we know all the circumstances leading up to 
the actions we question in others ; could we feel, as 
they, the harassing grip of misfortune, and know the 
uncertainty of all earthly things, as experience teaches, 
then perhaps our estimate of the conduct of some would 
be commendatory, when under meager knowledge of 
detail it of necessity becomes condemnatory. 

There's divinity shapes our ends, 

Though we see it but in part ; 
When God, love to his children sends. 

And fills with faith each human heart." 
Could we always know what was best, 

We'd bless the day that we were born — 
Give men some love, to God the rest. 

Never forsaken nor forlorn. 
But we do not know. And because 

We do not know what we ought, find 



FIXING THE BLAME. 125 

All the faults and pick out the flaws 

Belonging to all human kind; 
And think, that, of all, we the worst 

Of treatment ever have received! 
Sometimes our fellow men we've cursed — * 

For by them, have we been deceived. 

What I am I know not ; what I expect to be I can 
think not; what I will be I can say not, but out of 
all — a sort of jumbled up mass in chaos of circum- 
stances — I hope eventually to emerge pure and spotless, 
made holy and sinless through the blood of Him who 
hath said: "I am the way, the truth, the life and the 
light." Of myself I can do nothing meritorious, save 
to look, listen and believe in that almighty power which 
can reach down into the lowest depths of degradation 
and by a single movement cleanse from all unright- 
eousness and lift the human soul to the highest planes 
of dignity and integrity. Through the precious love of 
Jesus we are made perfectly whole. 



BREAK THE ALABASTER NOW. 

Faithful, is there one sweet-smelling flower, 
Which you've grown in the garden of your heart, 
For the friend, who in a sympathetic hour, 
Declared that from your side he would not part? 
Withhold not thy florals ; the narrow Bier, 
Sees no other than its burden of Death ! 
Hears no sound, gives no smile and sheds no tear, 
Though Nature embalm it in fragrant breath. 
If you've a wreath for an aching brow, 
Won't it be best to bestow it now? 

Would you break the box of precious ointment — 
Anoint the head, to you, dearer than gold, 
With love, in proportion, God's appointment — 
Keep the heart young, though the body grow old? 
Delay not. Tomorrow may be the day 
When funeral cortege moves slowly by 
With him, to whom you now could tribute pay; 
Before the spirit takes its flight on high. 

Lest o'er his grave in the morn you bow, 

Break the box of alabaster now. 

Have you not seen in a sad upturned face. 
The sharp footprints of griefs merciless tread? 
In that countenance have you not found trace 
Of unspoke sorrow, in a heart deep bled? 
From those faded cheeks you've read the story. 
Of departed hopes, when life still was young 
And the World seemed filled with nameless glory — 
The heart in triple happiness was hung. 

Can you not — for just one fault allow — 

Break the box of alabaster now? 



BREAK THE ALABASTER NOW. 127 

Have you seen those sadly passionless eyes, 
From whose inactive depths no flashing light 
Gleamed in gladness or sparkled with surprise, 
At hope's victory — beacon star of night? 
Have you seen colorless lips try to speak, 
The soul's immeasurable weight of grief, 
And be quiveringly speechless and weak, 
In bringing the heart its needed relief? 

Would you not help such soul keep its vow, 

By breaking the alabaster now? 

Have you heard that voice once tuned like a lute, 
In painfully discordant notes try to sing, 
The melody of a soul that was mute. 
Inharmonious, without music's ring? 
Did not your own heart become more tender 
At the hopelessness of that piteous wail, 
Did you not wish to be that soul's strong defender- 
Begin the "fiat of fate" to assail ? 

If we'd escape despondency's slough, 
'Tis meet; break the alabaster now. 

In keeping with that great Gospel of Love 
Preached to this hapless World so long ago. 
The grief-stricken may look in faith above, 
And find sweet comfort in the Heaven glow. 
But before grasping hold that mighty arm, 
It's a part of the greatest human creed, 
That in spreading sympathy's mild alarm, 
We help our brother satisfy his need. 

To do so and not ask the why, how. 

We should break the alabaster now. 

Better that naught be said o'er the casket, 
That contains the lifeless body of one 
Who received not of Love's floral basket. 
To cheer his pathway so narrow and lone. 
The dead read no obituary lines, 
And hear not the dirge or requiem song, 
Which help, faithfully, mortal designs 



128 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSK. 

At covering all fault before a throng. 

If we would joy with our friends, I trow, 
We must break the alabaster now. 

Better that coffin be plain, flowerless, 

Which holds a form whose life was filled, 

With that fragrance which makes Death powerless, 

And from which. Life's own essence is distilled. 

When the heart's throbless, cold and breath abated, 

Then garlands throw us backward no perfume ! 

Our gifts may be by the World related, 

But will they smooth one furrow? Why presume? 

If we're earnest for the why and how. 

We will break the alabaster now. 



AGED NOW. 

This day I feel to look back at the morn, 

Through the vistas of changing years, 
Intervening the hour when I was born. 

And this hour, with its hopes and fears. 
As I gaze in retrospective vision. 

The rough coast of Life's surging sea 
Seems set by the wiH of Divine precision 

Against the bygone years and me. 

And the silver threads on my brow 
Remind me that I am aged now. 

Indeed, I see me now in my childhood. 

And the balmy days, when a girl, 
I leapt and ran in meadow and wildwood; 

Or led in playground's dizzy whirl. 
Nor have I forgotten the days at school, 

In the old log cabin by the lane. 
Where the children were taught the Golden Rule, 

Amid green fields and waving gram. 

But the sharp lines here on my brow 
Say I was younger then than now. 

Age, Old March, with its cold, blustering ides, 

And piercing storms so bleak and wild, 
Swings like a reefer through Life's ocean-tides, 

Full of vim, as I, when a child. 
Sixty-seven times has this month rolled 'round, 

With its burden of birthday chimes, 
Since I first in this sinful world was found 

And began to learn baby rhymes. 

But the deep furrows on this brow 
Show that the end is nearing now. 



I30 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

One by one I note the changes in life, 

Since I as a maiden shy, fair, 
Met Henry, dear soul, and became his wife — 

Entered the joys of household care. 
Happy indeed have been the many years 

I've reigned — housekeeper and mother — 
Sometimes in gladness and sometimes in tears 

Living always for another. 

But wrinkled lines are on his brow, 
Which show we both are aged now. 

Oh, we cannot know what there is in store 

For my husband, my children, me — 
But we hone for this, if for nothing more — 

That in Death we'll together be. 
I have tried the Faith that the Savior taught, 

And wish that all my children would; 
I have seen the power of righteous thought 

And know what it means to be good. 

When 1 see Jesus' thorn-crowned brow, 
I feel I'm getting younger now. 

Dear Henry, we'll be happy while we may. 

And wish many a glad return. 
To our home of the rich, ripe years, and day. 

Before they strew our graves with fern. 
Or mourn our departure from the earth. 

Which gives to us our health and life; 
And, may each returning day of my birth 

Thrill our hearts as husband and wife. 
For I see in that future, now 
When o'er our coffins they will bow. 



HOUSE DECORATION A FINE ART. 

March has come. There is no question about it. Just 
what the experience of most people will be during the 
next thirty days is more or less uncertain. But whether 
the climatic changes of the month bode us good or ill 
most certain it is that at the close of these days of 
boisterous winds and unsteady barometer spring house- 
cleaning will alight flush upon us with all its con- 
fusing accessories and artificial blandishment. 

Parlor and sitting room, drawing room and con- 
servatory, library and private apartments — in fact every 
interenclosure from cellar to garret, including kitchen 
and scuttle closet — will be thrown wide open for an 
airing. So thoroughly has this system of semi-annual 
housecleaning obtained as an absolute essential in the 
fundamentals of domestic life in American homes that 
the average housekeeper would feel as though she had 
been unpardonably absent from an important session cf 
e?..!stence did she neglect any of these warlike attacks 
on the in many instances unaccountable accumulations 
of grime and dust. 

Incidentally, these stirring occasions strike terror to 
timorous husbands, and in justice to the faltering cour- 
age of an average man in the presence of a fastidious 
enemy of dirt wielding a dust broom vigorously against 
inoft'ensive cobwebs, is it any wonder that he trembles, 
loses his temper and lets escape a volume of lurid ad- 
jectives that would in nowise sound euphonious in print 
when wrestling with stubborn, though seemingly insig- 
nificant stovepipes that insist on staying unjointed?* 
From a domestic standpoint it is thought not, though 
morally such deportment might be considered a breach 
of the commandment, "Thou shalt not swear." 

Already many housewives are revolving in their 



132 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

minds the form, shape and extent of the coming on- 
slaught. It is a pretty sure thing that whatever plan of 
cleansing and decorating is adopted, good taste, artis- 
tic effect and stability are the qualities most desired in 
the home as an equivalent for time, money and energy 
required in the removal of dust accumulations of sev- 
cr?J months. In these respects no persons have so p'/o- 
lific faculties for producing artistic effects, so keen sen- 
sibilities in perceiving the delicate touches of high arr 
in decoration, as women, but after all when professional 
skill, practical economy and health are weighed in the 
balance their judgment in the selection of artist and 
materials is not infallible. 

Some housekeepers insist on papering and want noth- 
ing else in the way of wall and ceiling garniture, others 
prefer to use whitewash, calsomine and calcine, still 
others have faith in alabastine fresco or plastic coating ; 
and. of a truth in these latter days even, a few instruct 
the decorator to paint their walls. In any and all of 
these methods for beautifying there are objectionable 
features, and dangers too, of which the knowing pain- 
ter, paperhanger and decorator stands in mortal fear. 
P.apering possiblv exhibits the fewest reasons for ob- 
jection, and is. all else being equal, the least dangerous, 
especially if the mild tints and transparencies are vsed. 
To paint the walls of a room in the common colors is 
to inoculate It more or less with disease germs. This 
condition of things with reference to painting is ac- 
counted for in the fact that the oxides and leads form- 
ing the base of most pigments take on the form of ar- 
senic poison as soon as exposed to air. hence it is the 
most dangerous method of purifying made use of in 
the art. 

A decorative artist in his repairing and beautifica- 
t'on of cheerless homes is to be regarded with refer- 
ence to these things very much in the same light that 
decides the choice of a physician to subvert the rav- 
ages of disease — the one who understands his business 
best is to be preferred above all others. A very com- 
mon but nevertheless erroneous idea exists in the minds 



HOUSE DECORATION. 133 

of many that anybody who can cut paper and paste 
pi! per, can hang paper. A sad mistake, indeed, as many 
have found out by bitter and costly experience. It is 
true there does not seem to be much skill required in 
"slapping" paper on a wall. For a fact there is not, 
but "slapping" paper on the wall is the smallest part of 
the job — just as much so as administering an anaes- 
thetic is not the principal function in the reduction of 
a fracture or the performance of a surgical operation. 
Preparation of walls and materials is the thing requir- 
ing knowledge and skill. As an instance in point, what 
does the novice know about coloring in distemper and 
varnishing paper? What practice can he be expected 
to have had in the management of hanging crimson- 
stained ground papers, forty inch, plain tints, stamped 
gold, wood hangings, flocks, etc. ? What can the mere 
initiate be expected to know about making the different 
kinds of paste necessary, or preparing walls and 
grounds, and keeping clear of wall-damp, the greatest 
menace to the decorator's art? How can an inexperi- 
enced cub be expected to know just what remedies to 
adopt for the eradication of impediment, such as for 
instance, the use of wall metal, battening,- canvassing, 
sheet lead, etc.? And yet any or all of these very 
things may be needful in the decoration of any single 
house, even in so small a place as Edon. Experience 
tenches the wisdom and economy of employing a prac- 
tical and finished workman, no matter what the cost. 

Since among the popular methods for effective house- 
cleaning none has as yet been developed that surpasses 
paper hanging, it having the double advantage of econ- 
omy and healthfulness, and in view of the supposition 
that most of the homes in Edon will be decked in 
bright, cheerful spring colors, a few suggestions may 
not come amiss. First, secure a first-class workman — 
a professional — who by experience and preparation is 
competent to judge the value of a hygienic job. Have 
him to examine your walls and submit the selection of 
suitable paper as much as possible to him. If he is 
master of his trade the contrasts and harmonies will 
be correct and the result satisfactory. 



REAL BEAUTY VS. PRETTY. 

Beauty is not eternal, neither is it a matter of inheri- 
tance. At best and in the ultimate it becomes a thing 
of acquisition, and because of that fact is transitory. 
The qualifying word "real" simply suggests the per- 
manency of its contrast with baser elements, and of 
course, does not signify its endless existence. Beauty, 
whether real or unreal, is not confined to humanity 
alone but is also found as a condition in both animate 
and inanimate entities. This fact is unquestioned. 

Beauty is not eternal because it is but a symbol by 
which we convey the knowledge of our appreciation of 
symmetry in form, regularity in shape and harmony of 
color, which by reason of necessity must absolve, de- 
cay and fade with the objects it describes. It is not a 
matter of inheritance because symmetry of form, regu- 
larity in shape and harmony of color are not common 
to infancy, therefore are not dependent upon the ability 
of the object possessing those enhancements to gather 
such qualities from its surroundings as when assimi- 
lated with like qualities within itself, will, through the 
natural law of cohesion shape out a pleasing appear- 
ance. The fact that an object is dependent upon some- 
thing else for its full and final development makes the 
result of that development a decided acquisition. 

Character is merely a matter of strength or weakness, 
and may be found in a tree, rock or hill, as well as in a 
man or woman. With reference to a rock or hill, the 
word character is used as a symbol indicating power of 
resistance to contending external forces; in a man or 
woman it implies a virtue in good or evil, health or 
disease. This, too, without regard to the appearance 
of eiiher object or individual. 



REAL BEAUTY VS. PRETTY. 135 

Real beauty is antonymous to either organic or super- 
ficial ugliness and does not necessarily imply anything 
of the condition of mind and heart "which, at its great- 
est height of influence in the right, makes a pious man 
or woman ; or which, in its simple depth and propor- 
tion of wrong, creates the vascillating weakness of a 
beast — the first God-like, the latter demoniacal. The 
difference between mind power and brute force pre- 
ponderates in favor of the mind, in that brute force is 
but a visible means to an abstract end, while mind is 
the evidence of internal progression. Whether this 
psychological movement be in the right or in the 
wrong direction depends upon the individual concep- 
tion of the moral or immoral influence of his or her 
action. Beauty describes a flower, a dress or a produc- 
tion; noble thought, true heart, strong character, pure 
life, real principle, are definitive qualities in admirable 
men and women. 

Attention might be called to a large number of 
women who have been particularly admired for their 
charming "prettiness" — incorrectly by some called 
"beautiful"— beautiful as applied to the human face and 
form being confounded by the more rational word 
"pretty." A thing may be beautiful because it is per- 
fect, and still not be pretty. A woman may be pretty 
with all her faults, and of course, not beautiful. Pretty 
is the symbol by which our tongues express the pleas- 
ure of our eyes; beauty, the instrument by which we 
exhibit the strength of our inward selves. The on^ 
is a sentimental suffusion; the other, an immaculate 
power of sense. Thus we have the first prime proposi- 
tion, "beauty is not eternal, neither is it a matter of 
inheritance." 



IS KISSING WRONG? 

Now, kissing is a delicate morsel of something most 
difficult to define. It constitutes the sum total, the 
final outcome of a subject bruited in all conditions of 
life from the highest to the lowest, and mooted alike 
in hamlet and city. Kissing is a common theme, a 
thing with which all and yet none are familiar and, 
withal, there remains a mist of mystery pervading as 
unknowable as the impulse of human nature. 

Some people insist on the impropriety of that pecu- 
liar method of intimating sentiment, arguing from the 
proposition that such practice is scientifically, medi- 
cally, morally and etiquettically incorrect. Some high 
authorities have taken the time and trouble to finely 
expostulate with their fellows in learned diction, but 
the fact still stands that kissing may be appoved from 
the standpoint of all these as well as from the right 
of adopting a long established Biblical code. 

Science has failed to establish the truth that "edul- 
corated labial osculation" is detrimental to the mental, 
moral and physical development of any person. Physi- 
cians have not learned that any except infectious dis- 
eases have ever been transmitted from one person to 
a;nother through the soul-searching welding of lips. 
Etiquette has no law against one affectionate person 
expressing that condition of heart to another by the 
visible sign, a kiss. Ethics are obscure in their proof 
of damage to individual character through the un- 
certain changes of facial contact. Religion, as lived 
by the ancient fathers, fully endorsed the office of a 
holy kiss as the symbol of purity and christian love. 

Whatever motive may prompt the bestowal of a 
kiss, whether true or false, the power of that instru- 
ment of conveyance for feeling is in nowise diminished. 



IS KISSING WRONG? 137 

A kiss may be a token of fidelity or betrayal; none can 
tell, save those benefited or injured by the bestowal 
of it. As the same sunlight which causes vegetation 
to develop and mature, and gives color to leaf and 
flower, will cause that same vegetation to wither and 
decay, and that same leaf and flower to wilt and fade 
— out of season — even so and likewise does a kiss either 
edify or villify the intents of the heart in just so much 
as it be pure or impure, true or false. The fact that the 
sun's heat destroys vegetation is no argument against 
the office of the sun. The fact that some people per- 
jure their souls with a kiss — falsely given — does not 
obtain against the virtue of a kiss. Where one in- 
dividual prostitutes the uses of affection's seal, a thous- 
and are submerged in the ocean of its virtue. 

I must concur in the belief that too mj^ch careless- 
ness and laxity are extant as touching- the sacred office 
of a kiss. A real kiss is the fountain flow of blissful 
love; the more passionate, pure and blissful the love, 
the richer and more abundant the flow of kisses. How- 
ever, as the strongest current in the tides of ocean 
loses itself in the fashioning of other currents, even 
so the incessant flow of kisses must weaken the force 
producing them, unless, as is sometimes true of ocean 
currents, a reinforcement lends aid to the fountain- 
head. In view of the fact that but few ocean currents 
find return channels, it does not seem safe to expect 
human forces to be more highly favored by accidental 
circumstances. As true love is the sweeter and the 
more enjoyable because of its rarity, it may not be 
amiss to identify wholesome kissing with it, since both 
signify purity of mind and joy of heart. 

I am not a convert to the opinion that a husband, for 
instance, should regard his wife as more kissable the 
first year of married life than the tenth ; likewise inter- 
vening years; neither would I advocate an over-in- 
dulgence or an undue repression of the desire to kiss 
— but let it be at any time or any place under proper 
conditions. I think a kiss at the right time and place 
and every day in the year to be essential to the wel- 



138 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

fare and happiness of those kissed and kissing. I now 
recall that very touching story of Princess Alice, whose 
little boy was seriously ill of diphtheria. She had been 
cautioned not to go near the bedside of her suffering, 
child lest her own life be jeoparized. Bidding defiance 
to all counsel she approached the bed upon which the 
little fellow tossed in fever and pain. She laid her 
hand upon his forehead and caressed him. The touch 
cooled his fevered brain and brought the wandering 
soul back from its wild delirium to nestle for a moment 
in the lap of a mother's love. Then throwing his arms 
around her neck he whispered: "Mamma, kiss me." 
The instinct of a mother's love is stronger than science 
or statesmanship or royalty, and she pressed her lips 
to those of her child. So it will be to the end. The 
true mother will kiss her child, the wife her husband, 
the sister her brother and the maiden her sweetheart, 
though death in a thousand shapes lies ambushed 'neath 
the ruby tint of pouting lips. 



CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR. 

Endeavorers, is there one sweet flower, 

Which you've grown in the garden of your heart 
For Jesus, who said, in His last sad hour: 

"My spirit from the world shall not depart? 
Withhold not thy florals ; the narrow bier 

Sees no other than its burden of Death; 
Hears no sound, gives no smile, sheds no tear, 

'Though Nature embalm it in fragrant breath. 
So DeKalb Endeavorers, I trow, 
You'll want to bestow your wreaths just now. 

Would you break the box of precious ointment- 
Anoint the head, to you, dearer than gold, 

With love, in proportion, God's appointment- 
Keep the heart young, though the body grow old? 

Delay not; tomorrow may be the day 
When funeral cortege moves slowly by, 

With those to whom you now could tribute pay. 
Before the spirit takes its flight on high. 
Lest o'er your grave in the morn they bow, 
You'd best begin your endeavors now. 

Have you not seen in a sad, downcast face, 

The sharp lines of grief's merciless tread? 
In that countenance have you not found trace 

Of unspoke sorrow, in a heart deep bled? 
From those faded cheeks you've read the story 

Of departed hopes, when life still was young. 
And the world seemed filled with nameless glory— 

The heart in triple happiness was hung. 
Can you not renew your sacred vow, 
And begin Christian Endeavor now? 



I40 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Have you seen those tearless, passionless eyes, 

From whose inactive depths no flashing light 
Gleamed in gladness, or sparkled with surprise. 

At hope's victory, — twinkling star of night? 
Have you seen colorless lips try to speak, 

The, soul's immeasureable weight of grief. 
And be quiveringly speechless and weak 

in bringing the heart its needed relief? 
Would you not help such soul keep its vow, 
By just trying to Endeavor now? 

Have you heard that voice once turned like a lute, 
In painfully discordant notes try to sing 

The melody of a soul that was mute, 
Inharmonious — without music's ring? 

Did not your own heart become more tender. 
At the hopelessness of that piteous wail ; 

Did you not wish to be that soul's strong defender- 
Begin the "fiat of fate" to assail ? 
If we'd escape despondency's slough, 
'Tis meet; begin Endeavoring now. 

In keeping with that great gospel of Love, 

Preached to this hapless world, so long ago, 
The grief-stricken may look in Faith, above. 

And find sweet comfort in the heaven-glow. 
But before grasping hold that mighty arm, 

'Tis a part of the greatest human creed, 
That in spreading sympathy's mild alarm. 

We help each brother satisfy his need. 
To do so, and not ask the why — how, 
We should begin Endeavoring now. 

Better that naught be said o'er the casket, 
That contains the lifeless body of one 

Who received not of love's floral basket. 
To cheer his pathway so narrow and lone. 

The dead read no obituary lines; 

Hear not the Dirge, or the Requiem song. 

Which help, faithfully, mortal designs, 



CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR. 141 

At covering all fault before a throng. 
If we would enjoy Jesus. I 'low, 
We must begin Endeavoring now. 

Better that cofifin be plain, flowerless, 

Which holds S. form whose life was filled 
With that fragrance, which makes Death powerless, 

And from which Life's own essence is distilled. 
When the heart's throbless, — cold — and breath abated, 

Then garlands throw us backward no perfume! 
Our gifts may be by the world related ; 

But will they smooth one furrow? Don't presume: 
If we're earnest for the why and how. 
We will make Christian Endeavors now. 



AMERICA'S SILENT ARMY. 

Just thirty-eight years ago, I believe, war clouds hung 
dark this country o'er. 

And its loyal sons sprang prompt to relieve, in num- 
bers a million or more. 

Fiercely they strode past the enemy's lines, bent on 
a vile curse to destroy; 

With that courage which history defines, belongs to the 
real Yankee boy. 

It's a sad thought, yet one most dear to all — too griev- 
ous to express in words — 

Of how they arose at the country's call, an' fought 
like tigers with the hordes. 

Boldly they marched on to the battlefield, joined to- 
gether, a living wall — 

Each fully determined never to yield, even though in 
death he must fall. 

Proudly they bore to that hot Southern clime — story of 
peace in tones so clear — 

And taught the Negro the terror of crime, and honest 
manhood to revere. 

Thousands of comrades so noble and true, are lying 
silent in the grave. 

Who gave their lives and all in honor's cause, and pur- 
chased freedom for the slave. 

These motionless sleepers so deep in ground, under 
their laurels dearly bought — 

Truly have a name, the wide world around — Liberty, 
the prize which they sought. 

But no more for their joy the campfire gleams, or to 
them gives its cheering light. 

Where happy freedom's mellow moonlight streams its 
flood of peace, so pure and bright. 



AMERICA'S SILENT ARMY. 1^3 

Give them, oh people, your heartful praise, for golden 

deeds of valor done; 
Let us here, our banner, Old Glory, raise, to show the 

world what they have won. 
About this emblem moving in the sky, kissed by Na- 
ture's every breeze, 
We'll proudly rear our bulwarks strong and high, of 

homes and men — the nation's trees. 
May the grand old Stars and Stripes ever wave, with 

their colors — Red, Blue and White — 
In gentle folds o'er each veteran's grave, a true token 

of faith and might. 
'Tis meet that we strew garlands of flowers, upon each 

soldier's somber tomb. 
Our humble gifts from earth's sweetest bowers, now 

rich in leaf and bud and bloom. 
Worshiping lips may here speak words of grace, and 

honest hearts send forth their love. 
To coax brighter smiles in each widow's face, whose 

husband rests with Him above. 
Ye sons and daughters, your glad tributes give — a 

tithe to those who wore the Blue — 
For redeeming the land in which we live, and the flag 

to me and to you. 
We'll not forget that conflict of the past, nor the bat- 
tlefields red with gore. 
Whereon our father's lot to chance was cast, and the 

bullet-rent cloth they bore. 
We'll ne'er forget the loyalty maintained, while striving 

for victory's crown; 
Nor, the principle of manhood sustained, in striking 

vile slavery down. 
Brothers, should we not then more thankful be, in our 

noble work just begun; 
That we live in this land, happy and free, and are each 

a veteran's son. 
S. O. V. camps their attention should turn, to bring- 
ing Sons into the fold — 
Helping them the law of friendship to learn, as did 

our Sires, in times of old. 



144 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACJSE. 

We may ne'er get to hear a battle cry, nor see the 

tyrant in his rage ; 
It may not be ours on the field to die — because this 

is a peaceful age — 
But to be true to the trust that is left, we must be up 

now, and alive, 
To the wants of those alone and bereft — widows and 

orphans, who survive. 
Keep green in our thoughts, those living and dead, who 

strove the nation to preserve — 
The sick attended, and the hungry fed — nothing there 

is, we can reserve. 
Let friendship, charity and loyalty, outshine all our sta- 
tions in life. 
As greater than science or royalty, and worthy our. 
eagerest stife. 

All honor, then, to whom honor is due, there are those 

of whom we'd relate — 
Our own brave lads who went from Waterloo, for the 

conflict of ninety eight. 
To defend the Pearl of Antilles, from Spanish treachery 

and wrong. 
They fought Bushwhackers an' Guerillas, with cannon 

an' musket so strong. 
Our Company I did its humble part, preparing for the 

awful fray — 
And fear, 'twas not known to a single heart, leaving 

the station on that day. 
Though they saw not the harbor, Havana, nor carried 

wreckage from "The Maine," 
They joined the Stripes to the Red Bandanna, and 

bleached our country of its stain. 
Hail ! Dewey, Sampson, Hobson, Schley, Shafter — 

America's heroes so true ! 
For giving the Dons their sad hereafter, in love for the 

Red, White an' Blue. 
For these gallant men there's name and renown — 

but neighbors what will w^e do 
To honor those marching to Tampa town — brave Com- 
pany I, of Waterloo? 



BUGS. 

Bugs seem to have the floor just at this peculiar 
period in American history. The clan bearing this eu- 
phonious title has been receiving living reinforcements 
from all directions and in the personage of everything 
that has any right whatver to the title and distinction 
of "bug." It has been astutely put that the i6 to i 
people are silverbugs; prohibitionists, waterbugs; wo- 
man suffragists, ladybugs; soundmoney men, goldbugs; 
mugwumps, humbugs; popocrats, straddlebugs; mem- 
bers of the Four Hundred, bigbugs; with the bedbug, 
chintzbug and the potatobug doing business at the old 
stand, and in the regular way, as complacently and 
vigorously in all departments as though nothing had 
occurred to mar the pleasure of their vocation. Being 
a distinct cast of "bug" they disdain to mingle with 
any other set or cast of bugs, having gold and silver 
as an incentive, but with becoming dignity adopt a law 
unto themselves that it is meet that the farmer should 
share with them his Paris green, his crops and his 
blood. They enter no controversy, make no noise, 
publish no newspapers; but "neglect not the assem- 
bling of themselves together as the way of some men is, 
but exhort one another all the more as they see the 
day approaching" when the farmer must arise and with 
sickle and hoe gather in what is left of the fruits of 
his toil. The moral to this is obvious and simple. 



SOMEBODY'S MOTHER. 

The day was dark and gloomy. A cold drizzling rain 
had been falling during almost the whole of two days, 
thus rendering every aspect outdoors most dreary. The 
air was heavy, with a penetrating chill not unlike the 
nocturnal permeation of late autumn or early winter. 
At times the wind swept in sharp gusts from the north 
and northwest, with its burden of freshness sent by the 
ice gorge in lake and river. The streets were slushy 
and many of the foot-crossings almost imoassable. In 
short, it was a typical April day in Indiana. 

It was Saturady before Easter. Notwithstanding the 
inclemency of the weather, people from the rural dis- 
tricts thronged the business thoroughfares of one of 
those quaint, besmoked, though enterprising railroad 
towns of which the Hoosier state is prolific. The spirit 
of the place was hustle, and ere they were aware the 
lusty farmer, the tradesman and the mechanic, caught 
the influence of a stirring atmosphere in a stirring 
town and began, as a matter of course, to stir them- 
selves. Of those congregating outside the stores, men 
and women, boys and girls, each, all, seemed to be in 
a great hurry to get somewhere or to do something. 
Surging to and fro like waves on an angry sea, each 
pushed and jostled the other as though the last oppor- 
tunity in life, the last moment of existence had been or 
was about being reached. It was salesday with the big 
stores, and people from far and near had come to do 
their marketing for the following week. All were fa- 
miliar with these occasions, hence none appeared to be 
surprised at the great activity. 

At a point where two of the principal streets inter- 
sected, a large crowd of men and boys had gathered. 



SOMEBODY'S MOTHER. 147 

No one could tell just why a denser mass of humanity- 
found concourse at that particular corner, than at a half- 
dozen other corners in sight. But the largest crowd 
was assembled at this corner and that fact alone is 
quite sufficient to the purpose of this tale. 

Nobody seemed to be expecting her ; none could tell 
from whence or how she came, or whither she was 
going. In fact her coming was more or less of a sur- 
prise to at least one person, when of a sudden an aged 
lady — sad-eyed, wistful, emaciated, cheeks pale, wan 
and hollow, as from the effects of disease or intense 
suffering and shoulders rounded almost to deformity — 
edged her way, step by step, with slow and measured 
tread through the boisterous and not over polite aggre- 
gation of human beings. Her shoes were old and her 
dress, of an ancient pattern, was badly worn and faded; 
here and there a patch was to be seen, JDUt the whole 
scrupulously clean. A thin shawl, which had long 
since done ample service, answered the purpose of 
headgear and cape. Looking neither to the right nor 
to the left, and with lips firmly set, she seemed intent 
upon one purpose only — reaching a destination some- 
where in advance of her. To all else she was totally^ 
oblivious. So absorbed was she in this one purpose 
that she heard not the scoffs of the overdressed, hair- 
brained fop, nor the billingsgate of the street gamin; 
nay, she was insensible alike to the levity of garrulous 
youth, and the bellicose of belligerent superannuation. 
She was going somewhere. She felt it, believed it, and 
being extremely anxious to finish the journey, brooked 
no delay. Wind, rain, a motley crowd, none of these 
things could deter her. She must arrive there. 

But where? Who could tell? No matter. The lady 
had no disposition to disclose her purposes; none dared 
to question her; in fact none was specially interested 
in anything just then, save perhaps mere amusement. 
Though rudely jostled about, the woman maintained 
a stolid indifference, except now and then a frown of 
displeasure would appear on her otherwise placid face. 

At last, after many feeble efforts, she reached the 



148 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

middle of the street crossing and tremblingly awaited 
the opportunity to pass on. Just at that instant a frac- 
tious team of dapple greys which were hitched to a 
heavy vehicle, having become frightened at some ob- 
ject farther up the street, and getting beyond the driv- 
er's control, dashed wildly around the corner. The 
woman heeded not their noise, saw not her peril. She 
had but one thought, but one purpose, that was of 

. But before she could have framed the word, 

had she so desired, all power of thought within her 
was stilled. Eyes, ears and brain had ceased for the 
time to act. A fatality had overtaken, a serious ac- 
cident had happened to her. The horse nearest her, 
a mettlesome beast, plunged madly forward and side- 
wise, and struck the woman on her head with its hoof, 
from the effects of which she fell in a senseless heap 
on the pavement. She made no sound, uttered no word, 
save a deep, gutteral groan, as the wheels of the vehi- 
cle passed dangerously near; that was but once, and 
only for an instant. Then all was still and she laid 
as one dead. 

Of the motley crowd which blockaded the corner, but 
one, a young man, who had treated with silent con- 
tempt, the small, chaffy talk of his fellows saw the ac- 
cident. 

He took in the situation at a glance, and without 
a word sprang to the old lady's side. Bending tenderly 
over her prostrate form, he raised her gently by his 
strong right arm, to almost a sitting posture and spoke 
low, but earnestly into her ears. But she breathed not, 
heard not, spoke not;— was to all appearances dead. 

By this time a crowd had gathered and after a mo- 
tion from the young man, the unfortunate woman was 
borne tenderly to a place of safety, where a physician 
was summoned, who promptly applied restoratives. 
Ere long she opened her eyes and gasped: "Where 
am I ? What am I doine^ here ? Oh, yes, I remember, 
now — I was going home." 

At this, the young man, stepped near and said, "What 
can we do for you madam — m-o-t-h-e-r?" 



SOMEBODY'S MOTHER. 149 

At the sound of that word, "Mother," her ■wrinkled 
face Hghted up with a smile — a smile that was too 
sanguine of hope, too real for earth, and she said, look- 
ing the young hero for the first time in the eyes, 
"There is nothing to be done, my boy, just let me go to 
sleep ; I am so t-i-r-e-d, and she fell back on the im- 
provised pillow — a corpse. She had at last gone home ! 

The young man bowed his head and wept; nor did 
it seem as though his tears would cease their flowing. 
An awful silence reigned for a space; none dared to 
break the majestic solemnity, until finally someone in 
the crowd touched the young man on the shoulder and 
inquired, "Who is she; where does she belong; what 
is she doing here; how did it happen?" 

The young man's grief having somewhat spent itself 
the sudden sound of words seemed to awaken him, and 

he replied, "She is my his frame shook and sobs 

choked him — she is my — , she lived in a little thatched 
cottage along the river side, and was trying to reach 
home, when a runaway team struck her down at yonder 
crossing." 

Having uttered these words the young man dropped 
his face in his hands and 'wept as if his heart were 
broken. 

An elderly man approaching at this juncture, on see- 
ing the woman in a heap and the young man prostrated, 
exclaimed, "What is this?" Loosening the shawl from 
about the woman's throat, he peered hastily into her 
face. Withdrawing suddenly he approached a bystander 
and in choking tones remarked: "Somebody's 
mother. Yes she was somebody's mother. She was 
his mother. Her life was not an easy one, nor her 
experiences a flowery bed of ease. She suffered many 
heartaches and partook of keenest privation. Her son 
was not always a good son. He was wayward, and 
not infrequently unkind. But she endured it all hero- 
ically. She bore him and all his faults into the world 
at the same time, she was willing to think, and was 
therefore obligated to look after him. She did her 
duty bravely. If he got angry she was there to soothe 



ISO BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

his spirits back to humor; if he became vindictive, she 
was all forgiving; if he became intoxicated she saw he 
was sober; if he got into prison, she followed him to 
his cell; if he was ill, she nursed him back to health. 
Thus under all conditions she remained faithful to his 
interest. No sorrow was too deep for her to comfort, 
no dungeon too dark and silent for the light of her 
undying love. Oh, yes, she was somebody's mother. 
She was his mother^ but he realized it not. 

What is purer than honesty? Nothing, What is 
sweeter than charity? Nothing. What is richer than 
wisdom? Nothing. What is brighter than virtue? 
Nothing. What is more steadfast than faith? Nothing. 
These qualities living in the mind and heart create the 
firmest foundation for happiness. 



WHEN THE PRETTY LILACS BLOOM. 

When pretty lilacs in the garden bloom, 
A.nd lift their heads in fragrant sheaves; 

When sunlight frightens away clouds and gloom, 
And the wind plays tricks with the leaves; 

When sparrow, robin and wren take their room 
Very near to the cottage eaves — 

'Tis then, though human strength be failing fast, 

Eyesight dim and still growing dim, 
That my heart thrills with gladness to the last; 

My Soul joys in an unsung hymn — 
And in the beauty of a matchless world. 

My gaze to yon star-realm is cast. 

Many years have passed since dear Anna went 

To her AngeUc home on high; 
The last radiant glance to me she sent — 



WHEN THE PRETTY LILACS BLOOM. 151 

I see it yet; will, till I die! 
Just now, when fragrant lilacs upward shoot, 
I see her face toward me bent. 

She truly worshiped these homely flowers, 

And gave them with hands ungloved; 
They've cheered me in my lonely hours — 

Brought me near to the one I loved; 
Their perfuming sweetness and color rare 

Fall on my life like April showers. 

I too, freely love these old-fashioned things, 
Tree-like, blooming fragrant and grand; 

Which, many a happy memory brings 
Of an Angel, in the glory land, 

Whose voice in Heaven's music rings; 
A.nd who beckons me with her hand. 



There be some newspaper editors who pride them- 
selves on their ability to tell what they assume to be 
"the truth." This is egotism, pure and simple. It 
is not necessarily good journalism for a man to tell 
"all he knows." Such things sometimes show the limit 
of a man's intelligence. Then too, there is a diflference 
between the plain statement of a fact and obscene vul- 
garity; a shade of difference also exists between "sim- 
ple truth" and invulnerable insinuation. 



THINGS HEARD ABOUT TOWN. 

Pungent Points Picked From What People Say on 
Street and Out-of-Way Places. 

John Schnitzer tells a good story on "Pinkerton" 
Burritt, who it is alleged, was made the brunt of a 
harmless joke on Friday night of last week, while keep- 
ing vigilance against invaders to the smallpox district 
on the North Side. It seems that a certain person 
of the feminine gender concluded to test the extent of 
"Pinkerton's" ability to deport himself a guardian of 
the peace, pure and simple. So an "efifigy" man was 
"fixed" as though attempting to climb into the loft 
of a barn on the premises, and then "Pinkerton's" at- 
tention was called to the matter. In the darkness it 
was impossible to tell just what kind of a "hobo" it 
was, but "Pink," accompanied by a fellow policeman, 
Logan, by name, who was "on," sought the presence 
of his "hoboship." After cutting his neck a "few," he 
approached the silent climber and demanded some ex- 
planation as to why he was there. But "effigy" was 
silent as the shades of Hamlet's ghost. Finally "Pink" 
took hold of his arm, when lo, by all the beauties of 
the craft, the gesticular appendage was not of flesh. 
Then "Pink" enunciated a mild ameliorant to his 
wounded feelings. 

As the writer was walking along Quincy street, the 
other day, he observed a coterie of men seated on the 
stonepile anent the billboards west of Ike Whirledge's 
place. Among the men who were discussing common- 
places was an old boyhood friend, Willis Mochamer, 
by name, who had brought a load of hay to the Gar- 
rett market. After friendly greetings, the talk turned 



THINGS HEARD ABOUT TOWN. 153 

to street paving, railroading, farming, hiring hands, 
social gossip and finally to the subject best understood 
by the coterie, namely, horses. This subject was pre- 
cipitously introduced by the appearance of an old jockey 
from Avilla or Albion, who, it seems was well, though 
not favorably known to the crowd. As he came up, 
a lean, lank, bilious temperament chimed out a "hello 
there Bill! Where can I buy a good team?" The 
horse jockey replied, "Of me. I've got a fine team." 
"What does it weigh," asked the man of bilious tem- 
perament. "Thirty-four hundred," ventured the jockey. 
A dead silence fell. One of the number remarked that 
even yet a liar was once in a while to be found among 
some horsemen, although most of them were truthful. 

One of the primary necessities of these days is the 
shining parlor. That is to say, a room suitably situated 
for one of those high chairs to stand in upon whicli 
gentlemen sit while receiving a polish to their footgear. 
The position of the man or boy who shines shoes is 
humble, but by no means a mean profession. In fact 
it were a hard problem to solve did men attempt to get 
along without the perennial shine or polish of their 
footgear. On Saturday evening the writer mounted 
the hight for a shine in one of the numerous parlors 
about town, presided over by an elderly man, who in 
his younger years was a cooper by trade. "Can you 
fix these up for Sunday?" was asked, referring to our 
"tans." "Oh, I guess so," said the man of dope and 
cloth, who began the mysterious operation with a vigor 
befitting more youthful years. He was talkative too, 
not extremely so, but sufficiently so to make the time 
pass quickly. Among other things he said, "My trade's 
gone. I never was so swift as some, but I lay some 
claim to quality." By this time the shoes were fin- 
ished and shone like new silver dollars. "Are they 
as good as the boys could do?" he asked. "Yes." 

It does not happen very often that the boys about 
town have the privilege of getting their hair cut gratis, 



154 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

but just now there is opportunity for grooming the 
hirsute appendage. We did not know of it, or a quarter 
would have been saved to our own exchequer recently. 
But then, we didn't and it cost us that much for our 
ignorance. We'll speak to the barbers next time, 
though, about the matter before spending the precious 
quarter. We would not have "been onto the racket" 
but two boys happened to be talking about the matter 
in our hearing, and one of them said, "Say, why don't 
you have your mane trimmed? It won't cost you nuth- 
in down to Zeis's." "Why," spoke out the other, "is 
he cutting hair free?" "Yep. Doin' it for practice, 
see?" 

An aged tailor in town, one evening when in a rem- 
iniscent mood, made the remark that he did the tailor- 
ing years ago for people who have since acquired some- 
thing of this world's goods — enough to make them 
egotistical and pedantic. "They were talkative, then," 
said he, "and I trusted them for my pay, but now they 
find disposition only to grunt out a bare recognition. 
I contend that human f^esh is human flesh and one man 
is just as good as another. We owe it to everybody 
to extend the common civilities." 

"Reddy" Ward went into Pete Stoner's barber shop 
the other day, and after discussing — Reddy is quite a 
discussionist — the wind and the news of the day, the 
subject of "weather" was taken up. After dropping 
snugly into a chair, napkin spread, and lathered to ears 
and eyes, how "Red" did dissect the bureau of predic- 
tions. Temperatures and barometers were not in it 
when he announced himself tired of changing clothes. 
Some one asked: "How would you like to live where 
they don't need any clothes?" "Reddy" blinked his 
eyes just as he always does when thought is heavy 
upon him, and replied: "I worked with a gang once 
that didn't wear much of anything, but the climate was 
far from agreeable." A knight of the razor and strop 



THINGS HEARD ABOUT TOWM. 155 

asked: "Where was that, Red?" "Among the pud- 
dlers, of course." 

The old gentleman was quitely perusing his daily 
paper when the stranger approached his "shining par- 
lor," He immediately arose — that is, the aged gentle- 
man — and tendered the stranger his chair and the news- 
paper. The chair happened to be one of those high 
ones and an easy recliner withal. Ere long the stranger 
was buried in Ella Wheeler Wilcox's department of 
the Chicago American — that is to say his mind was ab- 
sorbed by her dissertation on "A Good Husband." 
Meanwhile the elder man was applying brush and dope 
on a pair of tans which were about as muddy as Ran- 
dolph street clay could make them. At last the story 
was finished, but not so with the shoes. His lordship 
of the shining parlor had the larger job. As a sort of 
easement to the situation, the stranger started a con- 
versation by saying: "It beats all what weather we've 
had, dosen't it?" "Yes," replied the burnishing artist,^ 
"but things seem to grow. Don't hear much about' 
the smallpox any more. Folks must talk about some- 
thing. You see, they have lots more time to talk now 
than was afiforded twenty years ago. Then a family 
of eight or ten kept the women folks busy cooking 
and sewing and the men busy earning a living. But it's 
different now. All that has been changed. People 
have plenty of time to talk. If there's no smallpox 
or scandals, then they talk about their neighbors. 
These are great times, I tell you." With that he ap- 
plied the finishing touches, which pleased his customer, 
whom he sent away joyful, not to say reflective. 

A young hopeful was jumping up and down on one 
of the boards used to cross Randolph street at Stoner's 
corner Tuesday evening. There was water under the 
board and it was muddy. The "kid" evidently enjoyed 
seeing it splash and went at the work with a vigor 
which would have been entirely absent in any useful 
occupation. A bystander approached "Louie" and 



156 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

asked: "Why is that boy like a hog?" "I don't know, 
unless it's because he's near to nature's heart — mud." 
And they all laughed but the "kid." 

Some people do a great deal of bragging about what 
they can do and seem to take an intense interest in try- 
ing to gull people into believing they are "it," so to 
speak in all directions, when in reality they are not 
"it" nor anywhere near to becoming so. It must be an 
excellent reputation for truth and veracity which re- 
quires fifty dollars every time a statement is made to 
make it seem plausible. 

Dear old Kansas has been the experiment ground for 
everything experimentable. The latest to encourage 
the pencil pushers is to the eflfect that an "editor of 
that state declares that it is a man's duty to be as 
good to his wife as circumstances will permit, and he 
has purchased for her a hoe and garden rake, and 
promises if his delinquent subscribers will pay up to 
buy her a wheelbarrow and shovel." 

There are in the world an excess of 15,300,000 men, 
which admits of the conclusion that there are an army 
of '^old bachelors" also. Strange, isn't it? Of course, 
but then there is a reason for it. According to an ex- 
change but one country has an excess of women. In 
no other nation is this true, except in Europe. It is 
said that "In the frigid and torrid zones men pre- 
dominate, while in the temperate regions where indus- 
trial development is highest, women outnumber the 
men." 

Pennsylvania does not appear to like tramps. The 
people of that state are a unit on that question and 
evince a determination to give his trampship the very 
thing he most despises — work. The country is in- 
fested with a class of men who have none of the finer 
senses of the average citizen and care nothing for 
patriotism; they have no pride, no ambition, save to 



THINGS HEARD ABOUT TOWN. 157 

itinerate from place to place. Purely nomadic in their 
habits, they can have no interest in the welfare of any 
particular community, nor feel the responsibility of the 
true American citizen. Indiana can well afford to join 
her sister state in making tramphood a crime punisha- 
ble by hard labor. Place upon them the restrictions 
and obligations of lawabiding citizens and it must cer- 
tainly follow that tramp life takes an upward trend. 

Have you heard of "skoliosis," the new disease from 
which children are said to be suffering just now? 
You haven't? Well, now, that is too bad. Henry 
Suder, of Chicago, can tell you all about it. Does it 
not seem strange that with from eighteen to twenty- 
three hours for recreation our children are unable to 
undergo the strain of learning to read, write, cipher 
and spell? If such be the case, then God pity the 
next generation. The News is not ready to think that 
present-day progeny are such weaklings, but rather 
that some gymnastic enthusiast is attempting to find 
some new excuse for his particular brand of physical 
exercise. If in reality, however, the children are con- 
tracting "skoliosis," then we have no duty for the 
present time more urgent than to take drastic measures 
for stamping it forever from the face of the earth. 

Edward H. Harriman has gained for himself the 
distinction of being "Wall Street's Nanoleon." That 
statement reads like war news, does it not? Well, 
it means war, and war to the knife, too, especially in 
the direction of the poorhouse. We read in history 
of men who went to battle in ancient times that they 
might take people captive and in so doing acquire the 
right of confiscation. Great wars were waged on the 
hypothesis that "to the victors belong the spoils." In 
most cases "spoils" were the principal reasons for the 
embroglios of those days, and if the truth were 
known, for many of the embroilments and insurgencies 
of the present day, the purposes involved are no more 
praiseworthy. Take the case of the recent panic in 

i 



158 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

Wall street. The Pompey of the industrial world and 
the Caesar of the banking interests both backed by 
the gigantic monied commercial corporations of two 
continents arrayed themselves for a conflict which 
should decide who was greatest in the stratagetic ma- 
nipulation of finances. J. Pierpont Morgan was nom- 
inally King of financiers, such proclamation having 
been provoked by his recent monopolization of manu- 
facturing institutions. Kuhn, Loeb & Co., the 
Deutscher Bank of Berlin, and James Stillman, presi- 
dent of the National City Bank of New York, were 
not ready to bestow the palm upon this self-crowned 
monarch, and forthwith planned to become rulers 
themselves. They at once selected Harriman as hench- 
man and called the engagement over the Northern 
Pacific. Unlike Mr. Leiter, of wheat fame. General 
Harriman was not alone ; neither was General Morgan. 
The Atlantic Ocean was between them, however, and 
when the final charge was made a lull came in opera- 
tions and in the interim, thousands of little specula- 
tors, all true soldiers and brave, fell by the wayside — 
ruined ! The two great leaders, Pompey Morgan and 
Caesar Harriman, only were left, not as equals, but 
one was the greater. Which one? American finan- 
ciers said, "Harriman." Now it is thought the second 
Jay Gould has appeared on the stage of action. How- 
ever, the future battles must be likened to the combat 
of Soraub and Roosthrum, of the Persians and Tar- 
tars, respectively, as chronicled by the Piiad. They 
will be stubborn and to the finish, hand to hand. 

We have labor unions, manufacturers' unions, steel 
trusts, oil trusts and every other kind of a trust, union 
or combination for the protection of somebody, bui 
the latest thing in the trust line is the "Evangelical 
Trust." It is an organization proposed by Rev. G. 
W. Lasher, D. D., pastor of the Ninth Street Baptist 
church, Cincinnati, whereby it is proposed to control 
the services of evangelists. The Doctor seems to think 
the big preachers are entitled to protection in the 



THINGS HEARD ABOUT TOWN. 159 

matter of competition with the smaller ones, and in 
lieu of that belief sugs^ests the trust. This reminds 
us of an occasion of a few years ago, when one of the 
churches in Indianapolis sent to Chicago for a big gun. 
who came and talked theological abstracts at the rate 
of $50 per night, and went away at the end of three 
weeks without a convert. Again, we remember a so- 
called Doctor of Divinity from Washington, D. C, 
who a few years since filled the Fort Street pulpit 
at Detroit, in the absence of the regular pastor. He 
took a text such as is usually chosen by evangelists 
to stir up enthusiasm. The gentleman in question, 
however, discoursed so abstractedly in the abstract, that 
his congregation fell asleep. It seems to be this class 
of ecclesiastical highlights who want to be bolster^-d 
up by a monopoly to control the output of the evan- 
gelistic product. This, of course, is a poor commen- 
tary on the apostolic instructions of the Humble Man 
of Galilee, when he said, "go into the byways and 
hedges and bring them in," and "think not on what 
ye shall say, for I will put such words into your 
mouths as the world shall not be able to withstand," 
and also, "the laborer is worthy of his hire." "It is 
likely that a universal prayer meeting would be a more 
potent factor in the evangelization of the world, than 
all the gigantic 'evangelical trusts' ever conceived of. 
If preachers will preach the gospel, they will need no 
'trust' to bolster them up." 

A great deal is being published about Dr. Herron. 
Before unequal relations obtained in his household 
Prof. Herron's opinions were par-excellent, but since 
everything is not as it should be in a preacher's home. 
Dr. Hillis of New York, assumes that Herron's 
opinions on that account are no longer worthy of 
consideration. We have no acquaintance either with 
Dr. Herron or Dr. Hillis, but it occurs to the writer 
just now that if a single wrong act in a man's life 
is the criterion by which is to be judged his ability 
to think, then Bacon, Shakespeare, Rousseau, Ruskin, 



i6o BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACJSE. 

Robert Burns, David, Solomon, Chopin, Liszt and 
many others, are not entitled to a place in the thought 
of the scholarly. Dr. Hillis repudiates the teachings of 
his own school, and lays his judgment open to criti- 
cism by the position he has taken against a fellow- 
scholar. It is a very serious business to undertake 
the measurement of a man's intellect by the standard 
of his morals. 

The trial of Prof. Herron by the Grinnell Congre- 
gational church for immoral conduct brought to pub- 
lic notice a wholesale allotment of fallacies, if one 
may judge by the common standards of character meas- 
urement. The testimony adduced tended to show that 
George D. Herron, like thousands of others, had tired 
of the common requirements of domestic life, and in 
order to carry out a diabolical plan for the separation 
of himself and wife, turned his back on established 
customs, repudiated the marriage vows and galavanted 
across America and over Eurooe in company with and 
at the expense of a woman who ought to have had 
respect enough for Mrs. Herron, if not for herself, 
to regard the risfhts of a wife as greater than the 
claims of a paramour. Under pretense of scaling in- 
tellectual heights to which his wife could not attain, 
the professor opened his bosom to an "affinity," and 
thus freed himself from the trouble of looking after 
his wife and babies. The evidence shows that Mrs. 
Herron was untiring in her endeavors at intellectual 
attainment, and that of the two she is the better 
scholar. But the professor preferred an "affinity" to 
her companionship, and through his egotism and in- 
humanity destroyed the purest influence of a home and 
destroyed the happiness of a pure woman who suffered 
untold agony and faced death for his sake. The 
proper medicine for him is not excommunication or 
ostracism, but a genuine, old-fashioned raw-hiding. 
Having laid claim to the superior intellectuality, he 
should be made to feel a physical pain for every heart- 
ache he purposely caused his wife to suffer. Still, he 



THINGS HEARD ABOUT TOWN. i6i 

may not have brains enough to appreciate the philos- 
ophy of such chastisement, though righteously ad- 
ministered. 

Poor old Prof. Crook of the Northwestern Univer- 
sity is the subject of considerable comment among 
learned men in London since laying his love for edul- 
corated osculation on the altar of science. Even the 
Britishers who worship at the shrine of science are 
slow to grasp the situation and proclaim Prof. Crook 
a worthy martyr. In all probability this position of the 
British is a more certain sign of true culture than 
the mere fact of a single professor of science in a 
popular institution turning sour in the name of his 
profession on a heaven-ordained and a God-given 
privilege of mankind. Promiscuous kissing is neither 
polite nor permissible, but he who would reap the rich- 
est fruition of his existence is not competent to ignore 
the fundamental principle of domestic tranquillity. 
The man who goes through life without the pales of 
conjugal relations, simply attempts to compel the 
world and his Creator to accept a half man for a 
whole one. Ampere, Faraday, Sir David Brewster, 
Galileo, and thousands of others, who could be men- 
tioned, found their loftiest impulses to scientific re- 
search in the wise counsels of a wife. Again, the man 
who allows his profession or ambition to rob his 
wife of a kiss now and then is hardly worthy the name 
of scientist. 

Dear old China is looking into the face of a dark 
future as an empire. No encouraging promises are 
held out for the future. The picture is all the more 
unformidable because a woman is at the bottom of 
all the trouble. The dowager empress seems to ex- 
ert a peculiar influence over the emperor, and unless 
this bewitchment can be broken and a better cabinet 
selected, there is no guarantee for the future peace 
and safety of that country or its foreign dependen- 
cies. It was a woman who gave Adam an interestmg 



i62 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

experience in the garden of Eden ; it was a woman 
who induced Haman to desire the destruction of a 
nation of people ; it was a woman that caused Samp- 
son to lose his hair and eyes, and now it is a woman 
who destroys the glory of the Celestial Empire. It is 
to be hoped she may see her folly earlv enough to 
redeem some of her atrocities before the dismember- 
ment of that vast domain takes place. 

The world is made up lareely of fads and fancies. 
Particularly is this so among Americans, who han- 
ker after titled idiosyncrasies. The latest thing 
among the girls in the fad line is the Janice Meredith 
c'^rl. The "Smart Set" of New York, Boston and 
Philadelphia think it quite the proper thing to wear 
one of those large, lingering rolls of hair so popular 
in revolutionary days. Mary Mannering is respon- 
sible in a measure for the picturesque and novel orna- 
mentation, she having adopted that style of coiffure as 
beloncrine to the role she carried in the play, "Janice 
Meredith." 

The lawver who induced some fellow to file a suit 
for damages for injury in the explosion of the "Maine" 
in all probablity was not aware that he was setting in 
motion a chain of events to come before the commis- 
sion, of greater siarnificance than at first could possiblv 
have been surmised. The United States assumed all 
obligations in lieu of Soain's s!-uilt in the matter, but 
if the claims for damaares are allowed it must be shown 
thpt Snain was gfuiltless. None will deny that the 
proposition is one of great complication, and in case 
damages are established the oft-cried "Remember the 
Maine" becomes a fake or farce. 

As an evidence of ffood faith A<?uinaldo has pro- 
claimed peace in the Philippines. Under ordinarv cir- 
cumstances an announcement of this sort would be 
received in America with gratitude and possibly loud 
acclaim. But coming from the source It does and at 



THINGS HEARD ABOUT TOWN. 163 

a time when people generally are on the anxious seat 
anyhow, the declaration of peace among the inhabitants 
of those far-off islands is received with a shade of 
suspicion that only those things in war are well which 
end well in overtures of peace. It may be that Aggie 
is in earnest. Such things have been before and 
may be again, that a few men suddenly change opin- 
ion and become faithful to the interests and purposes 
of the opposite side, but the exception is against the 
rule, except in cases of rare material gain. Just what 
this new citizen of the United States expects to gain is 
yet the query. The most he has now is newspaper 
notoriety. 

The Hoosier has a place in the world, whether the 
person be a man or woman. Great minds there are 
in Indiana, and they not infrequently think along the 
sarne lines. A fair example of this is shown in a work 
written by Caroline Krout, which deals with the prin- 
cipal characters in "Alice of Old Vincennes." This 
work was in process of construction at the time Thomp- 
son's work appeared. Both stories were written in the 
same town, but neither author knew of the other's 
story. This is a remarkable coincident and reminds 
the writer of a short story he wrote once, in which 
the principal character involved the personage of a 
bachelor friend who had lived wifeless for twenty 
years beyond the natural period of expectancy. No one 
thought of his taking unto himself the responsibilities 
of domestic life. He was a confirmed o^d bachelor, 
and said so. However, before the second chapter of 
that story was finished the papers announced his mar- 
riage to a charming widow. Strange things happen 
sometimes, even among authors. 

In the opinion of a great many able writers on civic 
problems it is held that the American prosperity now 
observable gives promise of a permanenecy unparalleled 
in the history of the nation. Money, the fundamental 
element of success in any enterprise, is circulating in 



i64 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

a larger volume than ever was known of before. A 
syllabus of the comptroller's report on December 31st, 
1900, would show: One-dollar bills, $102,000,000; fives, 
$300,000,000; tens and twenties, $700,000,000; silver, 
$160,000,000. The success attending this distribution 
of over a billion of dollars through the regular chan- 
nels of trade, is evidence conclusive that the best lub- 
ricant for the wheels of industry is plenty of money 
in the hands of the people. Money is the electric cur- 
rent that shocks the business world into life and ac- 
tivity. 

Aginaldo has been captured and the United States is 
one citizen ahead. That is. if swearing allegiance is 
the making of a citizen. Better to be careful, though. 
There have been times in the history of the past, when 
enemies were temporarily reconciled through the oath 
of allegiance. We say temporarily, because it sometimes 
happens that enemies, by choice or otherwise, fail to 
realize the full meaning of Americanism. The good 
old Methodist plan would be to take Aggie on pro- 
bation. 

Hon. Robert W. Taylor has a big job on his hands. 
He no doubt is acting from the influence of a certain 
conviction that marriage laws in general ought to be 
less lax in their application to the morals of the mar- 
riage state, but his proposition for a uniformity of 
statutes regulating divorce carries with it the necessity 
of fortificati(:3lh in arms and plenty of good ammuni- 
tion. Perhaps none are more particular in maintain- 
ing the purity of the home than Americans. In fact 
the first principles of Americanism were puritan and 
orthodox. One man for one woman and one woman 
for one man was so positively the rule in those days, 
that even a second marriage was a rarity, and a mar- 
riage succeeding divorce was looked upon with abhor- 
rence. Most people were taught to look upon divorce- 
ment as a crime. Our forefathers believed it to be so. 



"THE MAN WITH THE HOE. 

Much has been written about that class of men who 
till the soil. Some writers are eulogistic; others divide 
their compliments between approval and condemnation; 
still others find nothing prim or correct in the avocation 
of the ruralist. 

The fact still remains that however humble and un- 
assuming the profession of a farmer may be, as a 
whole, he is thoroughly endowed with the aristocracy 
of hospitality. Go to his home when you will, whether 
at daybrenk, noontide, or the midnight hour, and a 
greeting unmixed with affectation tempers his wel- 
come. He takes his visitor by the hand and says "I 
am glad to see you" with that earnestness of speech 
which dispels all doubt of sincerity. His ways may 
not be up to the standard of the elite, but that fact is 
in his favor, because it is the virgin evidence that he 
has not given his time to the mastery of senseless 
etherealities — those popular nothings society has in- 
vented to fill in time and round out form. 

When meal time comes, he has a way of asking you 
to partake of his provender that puts to shame the tact- 
fulness of the shrewdest fashionable in the land. You 
don't say no ; you couldn't if you wanted to. Yet, 
withal, you feel fully welcome. No stiffness, no for- 
malities ; he knows and cares nothing about them ; but 
just a plain sort of neighborliness that makes you feel 
you are not imposing on anybody by accepting an in- 
vitation to eat or sleep in his house. 

Freely blest is the man who realizes the calm dig- 
nity of "The Man With The Hoe," in all his relations 
to life. 



CIVILIZED BARBARISM. 

The spring of 1901 will certainly be a season of ag- 
gressiveness among the belles of fashionable society. 
Feminine frippery and effeminate flimflams are ideas 
which know no extreme too s^reat for them to sur- 
mount, no novelty too ridiculous for them to adopt. 
The rattlesnake is the reptile of guilelessness which 
the daughters of Eve will appropriate as an article 
of apparel this season, or rather his skin. Just think 
a moment on what a menagerie a man accompanies 
every time he goes out with his wife or his sweet- 
heart for a drive or stroll. As a usual thing she will 
have a silk worm dress, a sealskin sacque, ostrich 
feather hat, goatskin shoes, whalebone stays, kidskin 
gloves, horsehide belt, tortoise shell comb, fish scale 
trimming, stuffed canary bird, clam shell buttons, spitz 
dog muff, minktail collarette, alligator hide purse and 
a rattlesnake tie ! Oh, ye gods ! The barbarians of the 
Fiji Islands, bad in their way, yet none of them ex- 
hibit a barbarism like unto this. 



NEWSPAPER REPORTING. 

Jourialism is a remarkable profession, which requires 
a fitness and aptitude peculiar in itself. The following 
is a fair sample of ordinary reporting, minus theoretic 
detail and refers to a High School commencement : 

PROGRAM AT CHURCH. 

On Sunday evening Rev. W. A. Pavy delivered the 
baccalaureate sermon to a large and appreciative audi- 



NEWSPAPER REPORTING. 167 

ence, including the graduates. Mr. Pavy is a man of 
fine accomplishment and his discourse was embellished 
by many of the brighter gems from classic lore. He 
also pointed out to the class of 1901, many of the con- 
ditions surrounding them and called attention to the 
higher as well as the conmion responsibilities of each. 
The sermon, as a whole, reflected strong credit to the 
gentleman delivering it and won many golden opinions 
as to its intrinsic worth as a theological and educational 
dissertation. 

Thursday afternoon was a typical exemplification of 
the lives of at least thirteen young people, who, with 
their friends, neighbors and teachers, assembled at the 
First Methodist Church to witness the execution of a 
program of great significance. The day being the date 
of National Memorial lent a charm to the occasion not 
old, yet not new, but altogether pleasing. 

The first nunioer on the pr6s:ramme was a violin solo, 
"Berceuse" (B. Godard), by Geraldine Sembower, who, 
in her own particular way, interpreted that title in 
a style of musical discourse which clearly showed an 
aptitude for the profound in art. Miss Sembower has 
a brilliant future before her, which requires only the 
fullness of time and experience to develop a mastery. 

"The Value of an Education," by Edith Schunk, was 
an excellent oration and showed the young lady to be 
a careful student. If she strives to practice the thought 
expressed, her everyday life must reflect grand achieve- 
ment on practical and trustworthy lines. 

"Progress of the Ages," by Claudia Trainer, was a 
happy conceit in essaying, and disclosed a familiarity 
with the record of men and events and won for Miss 
Trainer a sincere regard for her accomplishment. 

Minnie Childs talked of "Little Things," and sought 
to discover to her hearers the fact that great things 
can come only through the skillful and careful aggre- 
gation of the "little things." This is true philosophy 
and worthy of emulation, in fact, a necessity in the 
event of any successful career, that the "little things' 
be well looked after. Miss Childs won high opinions. 



i68 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 



"Home" was the subject handled by Carlie Gard. 
We say handled, because the treatment was germane 
to the whole purpose of the theme. Terse, pungent an(i 
forceful, and with a sharply defined individuality she 
carried her auditors successfully from introductory to 
climax. Her style reminds one of Lillian Bell, whose 
crisp, catchy and convincing phraseology has won for 
her so many warm admirers. Miss Gard gave voice 
to the sentiment that the sweetest word in any language 
spoken by the tongues of men is — home. The subject 
v/as well assigned. 

Mrs. Rilla Merica fully sustained her excellent repu- 
tation as a vocalist in "Bird of the Mountain." by J. 
Maurice Hubbard. It had been hard for Mr. Hubbard 
to have written melody better suited to the capabilities 
of the singer ; it had been still more difficult for Mrs. 
Merica to have made a selection in which the true 
value of her voice could be better shown. 

"The Tree of Liberty is Nourished by the Blood of 
Tyrants" was ably, though all too briefly, deliberated 
upon by Otto Swantusch. Tall, manly and thoughtful, 
Mr. Swantusch presents a striking appearance on the 
platform, and not the least of his natural endowments 
is a strong, mellow voice. 

"Examples and Models" was a peculiar thing out of 
which Maude Childs brought nuggets of pure gold. 
The stress of her argument seemed to lie in the mat- 
ter of always copying from perfect patterns. A theory 
of eternal worth, which gives evidence of careful 
thought and preparation. 

Grace Feagler took up the idea of "The Necessity 
of Practical Training-" and carried her audience to a 
rational conclusion, that practical life requires prac- 
tical men and that practical men are the reasonable re- 
sult of practical training. 

Geraldine Sembower discussed the question "Where 
Shall We Work" in a plain, instructive fashion, adduc- 
ing the final conclusion that the place to work is wher- 
ever the work is to be found that we can do. Success 
is the sensible reward for hard labor. 



NEWSPAPER REPORTING. 169 

The program at this point was interspersed with a 
pleasing solo in two parts, "Tell Him I Love Him 
Yet," and "The Message" (Caverly), by Mrs. Telia 
Moore, who has a voice of culture and who sang with 
her usual power. The capabilities of her voice were 
well measured. 

"Might Wins a Way." the subject interestingly de- 
lineated by Delia Parker, in which was shown the 
fact that brain and brawn required an equilibrium, if 
man presumes to accomplish the highest aims. Miss 
Parker is endowed with an abundance of native talent. 

Gwennie Richards delivered a carefully prepared 
oration on "The Influence of Home and Its Litera- 
ture," in which was exhibted a familiarity with do- 
mestic affairs and a knowledge of the classics. Par- 
ticular reference was made to Charles Dickens. 

"Words" was the title assismed Beatrice Harkness, 
and it is no breach of etiquette to say that her name- 
sake of Latin grammar fame was but little more care- 
ful in the selection of his derivatives than was Miss 
Beatrice in the treatment of her subject. Words are 
the pictures of thought, the forerunners of action, and 
he who is carefullest of his words is carefullest of his 
acts. Words are the pigments of purpose, which when 
mixed with the oil of conscience can be spread on 
the canvas of enterprise and create the Rembrandt of 
victorious achievement. 

"Over the Alps Lies Italy" was Grace Palmer's sub- 
ject, which she handled gracefully and instructively. 
The gist of her argument would be that all worthy 
efiforts require a struggle — sometimes a hard struggle 
— before the attainment of one's selected goal is 
reached. As the soldiers, hungry, footsore and dis- 
heartened, were cheered to bravery by the announce- 
ment of their general "that beyond these mountains 
lies Rome," even so the exolorers for knowledge and 
place should remember that the richest reward lies 
beyond the highest and most rugged mountain of diffi- 
culty and opposition. 

Porter Andrews elicited the opinion that he was 



I70 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

familiar with Grecian history, and gave all who had 
read Ruskin's "Mornings in Florence," "Queen of the 
Air," "Sesame and Lillies," "Lays of the Spanish 
Chevalier," etc., a new impetus for the furbishing up on 
literature. He innocently recalled one of the greatest 
events in Florentine history by referring to Savon- 
arola, who died a martyr for liberty at the hands of 
the IVIedicii, and spake into the ears of Lorenzo the 
words no other man would have dared to utter. But 
he was talkinar more narticularly about art and took 
"Michael Angelo" as his subject. 

This was fittingly followed by a piano duet, "Zamba" 
(Herold), by Delia Parker and Grace Reyher, both of 
whom exhibited skill and careful training in the making 
of vibrant sounds. This also closed the program for 
the afternoon. 

The floral decorations were tasteful and in keeping 
with the spirit of refinement. The class colors, black 
and red, formed the bas-relief at the rostrum. This 
combination, taken together with the eleven prettily 
gowned young ladies seated in a semi-circle on the 
platform, the circle faced on the front by the two 
young gentlemen in conventional black, created a pic- 
ture worthy the brush of a Raphael or Angelo. 

EVENING PROGRAM AT OPERA HOUSE. 

In the evening a full house greeted the graduates at 
Wagner's Opera House. Across the foyer a susoended 
drapery in the class colors furnished a backp-round 
for the class motto, "Might Wins a Way/', in large 
letters. Potted flowers furnished the contour of the 
stage, and the same pleasinp- array of youth at the 
afternoon exercises put a finishing touch to the scene. 

The first number was a selected quartet by Mes- 
dames Merica and Moore and Messrs. Brinkerhoff and 
Lollar. These singers have a reputation beyond the 
necessity of comment, and they fully sustained it on 
this occasion. 

Rev. J. M. Haines, in a few well-chosen words, in- 
voked divine unction upon the event, and asked es- 



NEWSPAPER REPORTING. 171 

pecially that God's blessing might rest with the class 
of '01. 

"Rhapsodic, hongroise No. 6" (F. Liszt), by Miss 
Maude Sembower, followed directly the invocation. In 
the performance of this difficult discourse m harmony 
the player exhibited a proficiency of technique very 
gratifying to most of her audience, which, to say the 
least, was in most part critical. The News does not 
know how many musicians there are in Garrett, nor of 
any number specially gifted in the heaven-born art. 
but of a truth this is certain, that Miss Sembower has 
the accomplishment and touch of a real artist in inter- 
pretation of the conceptions of the gieat thinkers in 
harmony. Garrett people have reason for pride in the 
fact that society has the benefit and influence of one 
whose skill recommends higher recognition. 

Prof. E. E. Lollar next introduced Henry R. Patten- 
gill, who had been spoken of and advertised to lecture 
on the subject "Made in America." He was the same 
Henry of old, humorous, pathetic and vigorous in enun- 
ciation and deliberative in argument. He had lost noth- 
ing of the power identified with him in the delivery 
of "Gumption with a Big G," a few years ago, yet very 
plain and practical, withal. It was not possible to 
conceive of what material had been gathered by this 
master mind, out of which could be adduced the sub- 
ject matter for the title announced, but no sooner had 
Mr. Pattengill taken his position on the platform than 
all were made aware of the drift of his thought. He 
spoke of a visit to the Metropolis of the West, and 
while en route down town on a street car a sudden 
halt was called, which required some time and consider- 
able energy to remove the cause for. 

The obstruction consisted of. only a dray — a common 
transfer van — loaded with a gigantic piece of machin- 
ery constructed from pure steel. On the face of this 
was printed in large yellow letters, "Made in America ; 
consigned to Liverpool." 

The wheels on one side of this vehicle had become 
fastened somehow between the track and roadbed. After 



172 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

considerable pushing and pulling — pulling by the horses 
and pushing by the car — the track was cleared and the 
journey pursued. This incident and the consignment 
label furnished the lecturer with some new reasons for 
thought, from which was finally evolved the lecture, 
"Made in America." 

In following out the ideas suggested by the Chicago 
incident, Mr. Pattengill saw in a paper from that city 
a half column or more devoted to inventions and ma- 
chinery made in America and shipped to foreign coun- 
tries. There must be a reason for this, he concluded, 
and tracing the matter found that these things were 
the natural and plausible results of education among 
the children in American homes. 

"Why is this?" said he. "Because the hands of the 
teachers have been on the heads of our children ; lo 
these many years." 

Why is the American inventor better than the foreign 
inventor? Because his education has made him keen, 
quick, calculating and versatile, and reminds one of 
the argument set forth by Dr. Nourse in his "John 
and Jonathan," wherein that famous preacher compared 
English conservatism with Yankee ingenuity. Or 
again, memories of Col. E. P. Holp were recalled, when 
in his "Almighty Dollar" he says in substance, "A dol- 
lar by chance falls into hell. The Englishman would 
charge it to his profit and loss account ; the Jew would 
jump across the chasm expecting to grab it as he went; 
the Yankee would jump in after it and run the risk of 
being able to invent a way to get out. 

Thus the whole matter is summed up in the state- 
ment that education is the bulwark of our people. 

Mr. Pattengill paid a glowing tribute to Indiana and 
her industries and closed his remarkable address by 
reciting James Whitcomb Riley's "Old Glory." 

Mesdames Merica and Moore and Messrs. Brinker- 
hoff and Lollar sang an interesting quartet, after which 
Prof. Ezra E. Lollar presented the graduates with their 
diplomas. 

Rev. W. A. Pavy pronounced the benvuiction. 

Again in history has the school year opened and 



NEWSPAPER REPORTING. 173 



closed : again has commencement day with nervous 
strain and uncertainty come and gone ; again both 
teacher and pupil are left to a season of recreative 
contemplation of what is and what might have been ; 
again doth the wisdom of Pythagorous resound through 
the sacred domes of the centuries, "The desire to know 
does not always contain the ability to acquire. The 
true seeker after knowledge should be unknown to 
fear." 

Once more a class has gone forth with confidence and 
deportm.ent to mingle with the outer world, each tak- 
ing his or her way to carve out fortune and happiness 
from the chaos of circumstances and adventure. May- 
hap some may seek citizenship in foreign lands ; others, 
perchance, will find their life work at home; but under 
all conditions and in whatever clime, may they each 
and all remember the kindly care of teacher and the 
humble sacrifices of parents, and the hearty good wishes 
of friends in all their laudable undertakings. 

The community is better, the influence of its society 
is enlarged and the scope of its morals broadened by 
the fact of these thirteen young people having attained 
a royal degree at a royal time in the events of national 
life. Let us cherish their memory and encourage future 
generations to the achievement of the noblest enterprise 
among the institutions of earth, so that when the final 
commencement day is held in eternity the lamp of 
knowledge shall shine out the glorified beacon of per- 
fect liberty as wrought out through the mijyhtiest engine 
of rieht over wrong — brain and brawn cultivated to the 
highest possible degree of perfection. Thus shall our 
own escutcheon free itself from the stain of ignoble 
distinction. Let us keep the fires of Americanism burn- 
ing high on the altars of home so that when the emblem 
^f American liberty unfurls on land and sea it shall 
be kissed by the breezes of independence. 

The class roster in a paragraph is : Geraldine Sem- 
bower, Edith Schunk. Claudia Trainer, Minnie Childs. 
Carlie Card, Grace Palmer, Otto Swantusch, Maude 
Childs, Grace Feagler, Delia Parker, Gwennie Richards, 
Beatrice Harkness, Porter Andrews. 



REFLECTIONS. 

This being true, it is of paramount importance that 
the novitiate be not too hasty in his search after wis- 
dom and knowledge. In the study of any branch of 
learning he should take the time to carefully analyze 
every word in every sentence. Time is a wonderfully 
artful arbitrator of mental difficulties, and under ordi- 
nary circumstances is ihe least faultful' condoner of 
truth. Emerson was always wanting to get at the 
bottom of things, which ever takes time.v and because 
of that fact, he made fewer mistakes than many others 
who were less active and less patient in the pursuit of 
that principle in the solution of mental problems. It 
is very easy to make mistakes. In fact, no one is free 
from error, but thanks to certain systems in operation 
among investigators, some are less chargeable with that 
fault than others. Experience is a great teacher, and 
withal an expensive one. 

We often hear persons spoken of as seeming to have 
more perfect control over their nassions than others, 
and sometimes imagine that we would be like them 
if possible. Now let us think for a moment on that 
one particular passion, anger. To have complete and 
absolute control over one's temper signifies that natural 
tendencies have merelv succumbed to the mellowing 
influence of higher culture. In short, if one person 
conducts himself more admirably than all the others 
about him, it strongly suggests the truth that his abil-^ 
ity to appear mild under all circumstances is due more 
or less to the fact that he has had the benefit of a 
more rigid discipline than the rest. 

As touching offense, no person can be really offended, 
unless he or she thinks so. If we never think we are 



REFLECTIONS. 175 

ofifended we can never be offended. Therefore, the 
burden of self-effort lies in the strength of our power to 
gain mastery over the thought created within by out- 
ward conditions and circumstances. This is Stoic 
philosophy, to be sure, but it is nevertheless truth on 
that account. 

When you imagine it is natural for anyone to be good, 
faultless, you err just that much in judgment. All 
must watch, just as surely as all are tempted. All 
men are tempted, but it is quite possible that not all 
men need to yield to temptation. The sin of tempta- 
tion arises from yielding, not from the temptation it- 
self. 

To wish that we might be like another, is also to wish 
that we may undergo the test known as the firey fur- 
nace of refining and regeneration. If another has vir- 
tues above our own, it may be that each of them rep- 
resents a drop of blood sweat in the agony of the 
world's Gethsemena on the cross of mental and moral 
crucifixion. That is what it costs to be what one 
seems. 

The more carefully a man pursues the study of him- 
self, as compared to the universe, the less confidence 
he has in the false dignity of most men. The more 
thoroughly he learns the lessons of life, the more keen 
become the impressions of his own littleness in such 
things as pertain to his ability to cooe with the auda- 
cious and aggressive elements of nature. 

The world appreciates the value of self-disciplined 
men. That same world also places a premium upon 
honest, persevering effort. Great mental labor is al- 
ways rewarded with knowledge. History will bear 
out the statement that the majority of the world's il- 
lustrious men came from the humbler walks of life. 

The fact that an individual has a diploma from some 
popular college or university, is by no means positive 
evidence that he has acquired an education. 

In human society there are things happening the while 
which never meet the public eye or reach the common 
ear. They are offensive bevond the limits of ethical 



176 BENNIE, THE PYTHIAN OF SYRACUSE. 

law, therefore fail of getting to be a morsel for gen- 
eral gossip. To know about them is burden enough, 
without any attempt at scandalizing. As for instance, 
there be those whose tastes are groomed to a nicety, 
whose instincts become wholly animal when the re- 
straints of social intercourse are removed. Many 
young ladies who would abhor the ideh. of going on 
the street unchaneroned, have no compunction in the 
matter of admitting unknown young men to their 
homes and to their confidences on no better recom- 
mendation than that they are of "swell" appearance 
and are lavish in their expenditure of money. 

Whether we believe so or not, it is certain that expe- 
rience does teach us, mayhap unconsciously, but none 
the less truly. As a result we often intuitively escape 
many cramping predicaments, that had we not been the 
timelv recipients of the experience we could not have 
avoided. 



APR 14 1902 



APR 141902 



1902 



Siii;.. 





